


The 39 Steps

by ikkiM, tafkar



Series: The Alfred Hitchcock Universe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alfred Hitchcock Films, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, winter holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:31:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 88,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tafkar/pseuds/tafkar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sequel to Rear Window.</p><p>The Maesters of the Citadel have just officially declared Winter, and announced the dates of  Winter's Seven Nights, a week of gift giving. The denizens of Kingsgate Arms contend with a Secret Stranger exchange, surprise visitors, and secrets. Will couples be divided by holiday stress? Will holiday romance bloom? Will residents have to buy all new wardrobes due to weight gain from Walda's holiday baking? And has the holiday become too commercial?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Winter's Seven Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter work set for Friday updates.

Dr. Tyrion Lannister could hear students’ voices from the lecture hall as he walked down the corridor, uncoiling the scarf from his neck and shaking the snow from his hair. He tried in vain to ignore his socks as they slipped down his calves, bunching at his ankles. He was lucky enough to be a Lannister, which meant he could get his clothes tailored to fit, but socks were another story. Children’s socks often did not fit his wide foot and dug into his calf; adult socks were too long and shimmied their way down his legs–and he absolutely refused to wear sock garters.

Another annoyance, he thought as he walked into the lecture hall, was the lectern. It wasn’t designed for someone of his height. Even some of his shorter female colleagues had to stand on top of a stool in order to be seen behind it. Tyrion sighed as he removed his heavy winter coat and stashed it inside the podium with his bag. He fished his prop for today’s lecture out of his bag, then stood at the center of the lecture hall’s stage. He didn’t need a microphone to make himself heard, and he didn’t need a lectern to be the center of attention. He smacked the worn paperback he held in his hand against his other palm, and all eyes snapped to him.

“According to our friends at the Citadel, it is officially winter,” Tyrion said to the students as they quieted. The aroma of recently erased chalk surrounded him as he stood, the sole actor on the center stage. “I’m sure you’d already figured that out while you were building your snowmen.” Several students chuckled. “And while some of you were building snowmen, others were texting their parents with the list of the gifts they want for Winter’s Seven Nights.” He glanced around the classroom. Some of the students were blushing as if he’d caught them in the very act.

“Some of you may visit the bonfires of R’hllor or decorate a tree in honor of the Gods of the North.” He looked at the wall of frat boys taking up the back row. “Some of you might even get drunk and pay homage to the Drowned God with an ice swim.” The frat boys, of course, straightened in their seats with pride. “I assure you, gentlemen, if you do that you may never see your genitalia again.” The students laughed. Of course they did. They were eighteen, and a halfway decent dick joke would always make them laugh. “But Winter’s Seven Nights is the predominant winter holiday of Westeros. Why? Because we’re all in it _for the presents_.”

Most of the students in the room laughed. Even his teaching assistant, Tysha, her ever-present knitting bag by her side, gave him a small smile. Gilly Craster, who sat in the corner, didn’t laugh at all. He hadn’t been told she was a scholarship student, but her thrift-store clothes — not cool hipster thrift store, but dragon-a-pound thrift-store clothes — gave it away. Her background might have been tough, but she may as well get used to the kind of privilege she was going to have to confront for the rest of her life. He gave a nod to Tysha, who began handing out photocopied packets to his students.

He opened his paperback book in his hands and began reading, even though he knew the paragraph by heart after years of giving this lecture.

`“When I was a child, the very idea of a present was so new that a child would be perfectly delighted by just a single piece of candy on Stranger’s Evening. But now, every shop and store is glittering with all manner of splendors, every one dedicated to a different god, and it is impossible to decide what presents to get for people. There are worlds of money wasted at this time of year in getting things that nobody wants, and no one cares for after they receive them.” `

He put his finger in the book to mark his place and looked up at his students. “I’m sure many of you assume that one of your parents wrote that. In fact, it was written two hundred years ago. And the complaints about the commercialization of the Winter’s Seven Nights go back even further than that.”

***

Walda Bolton glanced at the TV as the thin, coiffed newscaster said, “And with Winter’s Seven Nights just announced, our panelists will discuss: is the holiday getting too commercial?” Before they could continue, Walda picked up the remote and changed it to the Cooking Channel. “That’s better,” she murmured to herself as the young, plump baker nicknamed Hot Pie demonstrated how to make phyllo dough using a pasta maker.

Some spoilsports (like Stannis Baratheon, the current president of the Kingsgate Arms Condominum Association) complained about Winter’s Seven Nights, but to Walda it was the most wonderful time of all. Seven days of gifts to exchange, seven presents to make and receive, culminating in Stranger's Eve — the biggest holiday of the season. Walda loved it all, from the decorations to the caroling to the baking. She especially loved the baking.

She smiled to herself as she attached another bow to the container she was making. That annoying Stannis had shot down her idea for a cookie exchange, but she'd managed to convince the COA members present that they should have Secret Stranger gift exchange. She had agreed to manage it and poo on that dullard, Stannis Baratheon — despite his complaints and protestations, she was going to decorate the common areas too. And she was going to decorate it so it was perfect, not in that weird thrift-store hipster way Sansa Stark wanted.

Walda wanted everything to be neat, perfect and soothing. The key to decoration was a soothing palette of neutrals with the occasional pop of color or ruffle. Sure, she’d had her time in life where everything had to be buttons, bows and homemade, but that was in the past. Now she was a wife, and it was her job to build the kind of household that would make Roose proud. She had even managed to get her grandmother’s old Westerlands sofa before any of her many sisters got their grubby little paws on it. She’d reupholstered it in a raw linen shade and it took pride of place in their home. Fortunately Roose preferred to read his paper in his leather chair; newsprint was death to pale colors.

But now there was the decorating challenge of the big tree in the corner.

Walda’s brow furrowed at the thought of the Old Gods celebration, all that communing with nature and worship of trees. She was glad Roose didn’t want to make her go out to the woods for all that–she didn’t mind camping in the summer, but the snow was another question entirely–but he had wanted something in the house. She looked over in the corner where Roose had placed the Old Gods tree. There was something to be said for it. There was nothing lovelier than a welcoming home with seasonal decorations and lights, so many lights. With bright white lights and a bunch of matching silver and white ornaments, she could make the tree shine like a star in their living room, like the final candle in the Winter’s Seven candelabra. _Why not spread the cheer to the rest of the building?_ She'd get to work on a wreath later. Maybe she could make wreath cookies.

She applied one last layer of glitter to the large pickle jar that, with some tips from _Real Simple_ magazine, she’d repurposed as the vessel to hold the names for the Secret Stranger draw. She folded each slip of paper the exact same way and placed the names in the container — all of the names except for hers and Roose’s. She drew out one slip for herself, then placed her own name in the jar, swirled it about then drew out another name for Roose before placing his in the jar. One was to be her gifting target and the other would be Roose’s. She put them aside so they could unfold them together. Finally she picked up the plate of cookies, gave Hot Pie one last glance, and left to make the rounds.

Her first stop would be Margaery and Sansa. Roose had just helped them find a new kitten after they lost their last one. He had wanted to preserve Lady Pounce for them as a Secret Stranger gift, but Walda had persuaded him that a new kitten would be better than a stuffed old cat. Roose had some odd ideas about hanging onto pets.

***

Margaery Tyrell looked at the boxes of decorations that her girlfriend Sansa had scattered around the living room, bright little pops of color. Her hand drifted over a pink glass bulb, then a neon green one with fake snow, and then settled on an adorable china kitten holding a wreath. “I’ll start hanging the ornaments,” she said, reaching into a box. She pulled out another adorable cat ornament, this one fuzzy and soft, and placed it on the carpet. Their new kitten, Ser Whiskers, started batting it across the floor.

“You never start with the ornaments!” Sansa said, slapping Margaery’s hands away. “First the garlands, _then_ the lights, then the ornaments. I told you, I want this to look perfect.” She picked up the stuffed kitten that Whiskers had been playing with and placed it back in the box. “Whiskers, sweetie, play with this instead.” She plucked a cellophane crinkle ball from under the neon throw pillows piled up on their bright orange chair and sent it spinning across the fuzzy fake animal fur throw rug that sat in the middle of the room. Whiskers tumbled right after it.

“I don’t know how to decorate a tree,” Margaery said. “I’ve only seen them down by City Hall next to the Seven’s Candelabra. My family follows the New Gods. Well, enough to give gifts during Winter’s Seven Nights, anyway. The last time I was in a sept was for art history class in undergrad. I didn’t think you cared about the Old Gods. Where did you find a tree in King’s Landing, anyway?”

“Dr. Bolton knows someone,” Sansa said. She was already stringing a shimmering garland around the tree. “Well, so far as the Old Gods, I never liked camping out in the woods to honor Nature’s Children. But I’ve kind of missed decorating the house over the last few years.” She shrugged. “And the tree’s pretty.” She turned and smiled at Margaery. “You can help me with this if you want.” As she reached up to string the garland on a high branch, her sweater lifted up, baring a stretch of creamy abdomen.

Margaery took the invitation to admire the view close-up. She picked up a strand of lights. “There was a Northern girl at my boarding school,” she said. “I must admit, I was kind of jealous of the way you celebrate winter with the Old Gods. All your presents at once! You don’t have an entire day dedicated to socks,” she said, frowning.

“You’d appreciate Crone’s Eve more if you lived in the North,” Sansa said. “My mother celebrated Winter’s Seven Nights and whenever I wanted to turn up the heat she would say, ‘Just put on the socks I gave you for Crone’s Eve last year, and another sweater.’ My mother always knitted all of us new socks. Of course she said the Crone made them for us. My father always said that a Northerner must have invented Crone’s Eve because it was such a practical gift.”

“Well, if you want to give me socks I’d love a pair of thigh-highs—” Margaery said, carefully placing the strand of lights on the tree.

“They’re not supposed to be nylons, Margaery,” Sansa said, smiling at her girlfriend between the branches.

“Traditionalist,” Margaery said, rolling her eyes.

“They’re for Crone’s Eve. They’re supposed to be warm. Fuzzy.” She went back to stringing the garland. “Made by hand.”

“Are you making me socks for Crone’s Eve?” Margaery said. “Is that why you’ve been out once a week with Tysha and the rest of your knitting club?” She started stringing the lights around the back of the tree, by the wall.

“We’ve been knitting socks for one of your charities, like I promised. We’ll have at least twenty pairs for children in need by Crone’s Eve. Do you think that leaves me any time to knit socks for you? Besides, the whole point of Winter’s Seven Nights is that it’s a secret,” Sansa said, taking the lights from Margaery’s hands and redirecting them so that they curled back around the front of the tree.

“Well, there’s only two of us here, so I’m sure I’ll be able to guess who’s giving me all those packages.” Margaery leaned around the branches to get close to Sansa. Sansa smiled and came closer. They were about to kiss when there was a knock at the door.

Margaery sighed. “Don’t forget where we left off,” she said before she opened the door.

Outside was their plump neighbor, Walda. One hand held an obscenely glittery jar; the other held a plate piled with sweets. “Hello, girls!” she said, brimming with cheer. “How’s that adorable little kitten doing? It’s time for the Secret Stranger draw! And I brought you each a cookie.”

“The what?” Sansa said, leaving the tree behind and stepping toward the door.

“Ooooo, you have a tree too!” Walda said, peeking inside. Margaery usually hated nosy neighbors but Walda was more like a sugar-dusted force of nature. “Roosie insisted that we keep one, being from the North and all.” She looked over the tree and tilted her head. “You don’t have any tinsel. I have some extra if you—”

“A garland is much nicer than tinsel. It’s—” Sansa started to say.

“We’ll let you know,” Margaery said, interrupting with a smile. Both Walda and Sansa believed in having a perfect household, but each had an entirely different vision of what that meant. Walda was a _Marya Stewart Living Magazine_ type, wanting everything to be perfect, traditionalist and in two colors at most, one of which always had to be a neutral. It was exactly the kind of decorating Margaery had grown up with. Sansa’s inspiration came from places like the twee Hello Giggles blog and involved thrift store finds, bright colors, busy patterns and throw pillows. So many throw pillows. Sansa wrinkled her nose at Walda’s decorating and called it old-fashioned; Margaery secretly thought it was some deep-buried part of Sansa that needed to rebel against her own mother, who also adored Marya Stewart.

Sansa and Walda had already had one dust-up about the condo building’s holiday festivities, and Sansa had won the right to plan the Stranger’s Eve party. Margaery had forgotten to tell Sansa about Walda’s surprise move to take a little of the holiday turf for herself. “Sansa was busy with her roller derby at the last condo meeting. She missed the—”

“Oh, that Stannis!” Walda said. “He wanted to spoil everyone’s fun. He said that with your party there was enough holiday spirit for the building. But our festive spirit prevailed!”

Sansa kept smiling. Any outsider would have thought she was pleased. But Sansa had smiles, Margaery thought, and then she had _smiles_.

Walda didn’t seem to notice the difference. “Just draw a name out of the jar. You’re their Secret Stranger, and each day you get them a gift. Nothing too expensive — we set a limit of ten dragons a day. We didn’t want anyone to feel left out.”

“Your jar is so … sparkly,” Sansa said. Sansa reached into the jar, pulled out a name and raised her eyebrows, glanced at Walda, then tucked the slip of paper into her pocket. “Your turn,” she said to Margaery, picking a cookie up from Walda’s plate.

As Margaery reached in Sansa said to Walda, “You put glitter on the outside! I’ve never seen it done that way before. Most people coat the inside with ModPodge and roll the glitter around inside. But I guess you were going for a more shabby-chic look,” Sansa said.

“Well, I know some people nowadays like to sprinkle themselves with glitter, but I didn’t think most people would like to have it on their hands,” Walda said brightly.

Margaery’s fist clenched around her piece of paper as she pulled her hand out of the jar. She tried to think of a distraction for the two women as she opened her slip. Then she saw the name and grinned. “Oh, I like this game,” she said.

“Well, don’t tell anyone who you got,” Walda said firmly. “The most fun is figuring out who everyone’s Secret Stranger is.” She held the plate toward Margaery until Margaery took a cookie. “Have a good afternoon decorating your tree, girls!”

Margaery closed the door and then grimaced at the cookie. “I can’t eat this. My tightest skirts are already getting snug. Someone brings in cookies to the office every day,” she said.

“They aren’t as good as mine anyway,” Sansa said, taking the cookie from Margaery’s hands and taking a bite before Margaery could stop her. “Telling me not to talk about who I got. Of course I won’t tell who I got. You never say who you’re Secret Stranger for until the Stranger’s Eve party.”

Margaery smiled. “But you’re going to tell me, right? Wait until you hear who I got,” she teased in a sing-song voice.

Sansa gave a small, mysterious smile. “It’s supposed to be a secret, Margaery,” she said.

“A secret from other people,” Margaery said, stepping closer and sliding one finger down the center of Sansa’s fuzzy sweater. “Not from me.”

“I won’t tell,” Sansa said, taking another bite of Margaery’s cookie.

“I’ll find a way to make you talk,” Margaery said, stepping closer.

Sansa laughed as they fell to the couch.

It was a long time before they got back to decorating the tree, and by then Ser Whiskers had pulled most of the ornaments out of the boxes and sent them rolling across the floor.

***

“What are you looking up?” Stannis asked Davos.

“Oh, just doing research on the predicted holiday trends so I can stock my store,” Davos said, quickly switching tabs in case Stannis decided to look over his shoulder. In truth, Davos was looking for a great warm-weather holiday for his Stranger’s Eve gift for Stannis. His friend Sal had suggested that they go to Sothyros and pay for the trip by using their luggage allotment to bring back the national cookie of Sothyros, the Tim-Tam.

But there was no way Davos could arbitrage their holiday with cookies. The last time they’d been Down Under, Stannis had found the cache of Tim-Tams that Davos was planning to bring back to Westeros. By the time Davos came back to the hotel room, the only sign of the cookies were the crumbs sticking to Stannis’s face and the bloated stomach that Stannis clutched, groaning. If it had been a packet that would have been one thing — but a case! Davos thought he would have to bring Stannis to the hospital due to sugar shock.

Davos now hid the tea biscuits that he and Sal shared in a secret compartment in the kitchen cabinet. He knew that one wasn’t supposed to keep secrets from one’s spouse, but Davos was a master at secret-keeping, and it was excusable when one was keeping secrets for one’s spouse’s health, or for a holiday surprise. At least, that was what he tried to convince himself.

“I’m so glad you’re home early,” he said, shutting his laptop and standing up. “Let me get your briefcase so you can go freshen up.”

Stannis was still in the bathroom when there was a knock at the door.

It was their upstairs neighbor Walda, dressed in pink and smelling like cake. “It’s time to draw your Secret Stranger name!” she said, shaking the jar in her hand. A bit of glitter had come loose, falling onto the hallway carpet. “And make sure to take a cookie,” she said.

Davos could hear Stannis’s steps behind him. “Oh, hello, Stannis!” Walda said. “I had some lovely ideas for how we can decorate the common areas for the holiday.”

"Walda, I know you have some ideas about decorating the public areas, but I believe there very specific rules regarding the location and manner of decorations. Some people might not be celebrating Winter’s Seven Nights. We must be respectful of other religions," Stannis warned.

"Oh, Stannis," Walda stated as she reached out and tapped his arm. "My husband follows the Old Gods and even he doesn’t mind a little Winter’s Seven festivity. And Sansa has an Old Gods tree too, and she’s planning the Stranger’s Eve party! Although I’m sure it’s her first time, poor thing. I hope she doesn’t forget anything. Winter's Seven is really a holiday for all." She held her plate out. “Here, have a cookie.”

Stannis made a noise in the back of his throat, almost as if he were being strangled.

"Walda, do I just reach in to draw a name?" Davos asked, sliding his arm around Stannis' waist and subtly holding him back from the lure of the cookies. "So lovely of you to arrange all of this. I'm sure it will be wonderful."

She turned the power of her smile on Davos. "It will be," she insisted. "Although I think a cookie exchange would have been lovely as well," she added, narrowing her eyes only momentarily.

Stannis made the near strangled noise again. Davos quickly reached his hand into the jar and looked at the name. “Well, that’s interesting,” he said.

Walda shook the container once more, releasing even more glitter into the air. Davos could hear Stannis’s teeth grind; he was sure his partner was thinking of the vacuuming that would need to be done in order to cleanse their doorstep, and probably the entire hallway as well. "Time for you to draw, Stannis," she said.

With a sigh, Stannis drew. He looked at the name, nodded once, and then walked away. “I’ll get the vacuum,” he said.

Davos patted Walda’s hand. “Stannis is trying to swear off sweets this holiday season,” he said.

Walda looked mystified. “Swear off sweets? Why, one cookie never hurt anyone.”

Davos remembered Stannis in the middle of a bed full of cookie crumbs, groaning. “No,” Davos said. “ _One_ cookie never did.”

***

Gilly closed her copyshop-bound book of the materials for Dr. Lannister’s class and put her head in her hands. This essay was easy for everyone else. They’d grown up with Winter’s Seven Nights. Gilly had grown up in the far North, her father worshipping gods that were older than the Old Gods. Winter’s Seven was all new to her.

Everything was new to her. The room she was renting from Brienne was bigger than her room at home, and she didn’t have to share this room with three sisters. Brienne’s condominium at the Kingsgate Arms was far bigger than the trailer Gilly had grown up in, and most of the time Gilly had it to herself. She knew she was lucky to get a full scholarship including a stipend for room and board — and her sisters constantly reminded her in letters how lucky she was to escape their father — but some days all she wanted was to go home, where things were familiar.

She pushed the book aside, grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling a note to one of her sisters. _You wouldn’t believe these Southroners,_ she wrote. _Less than an inch of snow on the ground and they closed the schools! People are bundled up like a blizzard is coming. I hardly have to even put on a jacket. They–_

Before she could continue, there was a knock at the door.

On the other side stood one of Brienne’s neighbors, the chubby woman from the third floor. One of her hands held a big, sparkly jar; the other held a half-full plate of cookies. “Hi there!” the blonde woman said enthusiastically. “We’ve never met, but I’ve sure seen you around a lot. You’re Gilly, right? Brienne’s new roommate? I’m Walda Bolton.”

“Yes ma’am,” Gilly said. She flinched inwardly as soon as she said it. _Not ma’am — miss_. Ma’am was a sign of respect in the far North but here in the South all the women thought that you were calling them old when you said it.

But Walda didn’t seem to mind. “How polite you are! Aren’t you just sweet? Is Brienne home yet?”

“No, I think she’s—” Gilly shut her mouth before she could give it away.

“Oh, she’s probably at that new tenant’s place. Although now I guess you’re the newest one, huh?”

Gilly stared at her. Walda kept talking. “I know Mr. Baratheon thinks that Brienne is moving in with that handsome man, but he also thought that holding a winter cookie exchange was a bad idea.” She snorted, and for a moment her preternaturally cheery face collapsed into a frown. “Well poo on him! I won’t tell if she’s over there tonight.” She stepped through the door and looked into the apartment. “And she still clearly lives here.” She shook her head. “She should wear a few ruffles. Maybe a floral print. Anyway.” She stepped in and put the plate of cookies on the kitchen counter. “I’m here so that you can draw the name of your Secret Stranger person.”

Gilly still stared, paralyzed by nervousness.

“Oh, my goodness, you’re from the far North, aren’t you?” Walda said. “Roosie’s told me what it’s like up there. This must all be new to you. Here. Have a cookie and let me explain.”

Gilly looked over the cookies. They didn’t look like the cookies her dad bought at the grocery store. Those were all exactly the same, while these were each different shapes. She took one and nibbled on it. She wanted to devour it all at once, but she knew she had to make it last. And she wondered what Walda wanted in return. People wouldn’t just give away cookies for free.

“I know you’ve figured out that during Winter’s Seven Nights people give gifts to each other. Sometimes with big groups we do a Secret Stranger exchange, so you only have to give presents to one person. You pick a name out of the jar, and then when Winter’s Seven Nights starts, you secretly leave them presents every day. Then at the party on Stranger’s Eve, we all tell the person who has been getting our gifts who we are.” She must have seen something in Gilly’s face, because she immediately said, “Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. We set a price limit on the gifts. No one can spend more than ten dragons. It won’t be much out of your pocket.”

“Ten dragons for the week?” Gilly said, sliding a hand into her pocket to touch the few stags jingling there.

“Ten dragons per gift,” Walda said. “Although it doesn’t have to cost that much. I always say hand-made gifts are the best gifts,” she said, waving a hand at the cookies.

Why did all these Southron folks think that Northerners knew how to make everything from scratch? Gilly had thought mashed potatoes were made out of flakes from a box until she saw Brienne boil potatoes and then take the masher to them. Rather than pointing this out, though, she persevered with her questions. “And…each day you’re supposed to give a certain kind of gift, right? Like, Crone’s Eve is handmade stuff?”

“Oh, no. Crone’s Eve is socks,” Walda said. “The second day is Father's Eve and traditional gift is something educational or books, followed by Mother's Eve where we give something for comfort or something homemade. Warrior’s Eve can be something sports or strength-related — it really depends on your family. Smith’s Eve is usually something electronic or new-fangled. Maiden’s Eve is usually something sweet — or romantic, if you’re giving it to someone you’re dating. And the final night is Stranger's Eve, which is when people give the best gift. It’s supposed to be something the receiver has always wanted.”

The words were buzzing around her head, but Gilly had forgotten half of them already. Was handmade supposed to be Mother’s Eve or Maiden’s Eve? “Wait, doesn’t Eve mean it’s the night before, so Mother’s Eve would be Crone’s Night? How do you tell which gift you’re supposed to give when?”

Walda’s normally placid brow furrowed slightly before she smiled. “Oh, it’s not eve for the night before, it’s short for Evening, dear.” She reached out and patted Gilly’s hand.

It was Gilly’s turn to furrow her brow. “So Maiden’s Eve is the fifth day or the sixth?” Gilly asked.

Walda glanced at the whiteboard by the door. “Let me write it down for you, sweetie,” she said.

After Walda left, Gilly leaned back against the table, staring at the list, and pressed her hands against her temples. _Seven presents! Ten dragons each!_ That was seventy dragons, one quarter of what she made per month cleaning up after Mr. Lannister. Maybe she should just go home early.

 _No. No_. Her sisters said she shouldn’t go home at all. _Think, Gilly._ Well, she had an assignment on the Winter’s Seven, didn’t she? Didn’t this count as anthropological research? Or something? Her scholarship provided for an additional stipend for academic supplies and activities. She was given funds for books, research trips, but she had to write something to justify it first. Maybe she could write something to justify accessing seventy dragons of her funds for this.

***

Walda next knocked at Robert Baratheon's door. He wasn't home but that wasn't unusual. It was preferable, actually. At least he wasn't having yet another loud party with women running about in the hallways. She slipped a name under his door.

She'd just stepped off the elevator and onto the fourth floor when the door to Jaime Lannister's apartment opened and Brienne and Jaime stepped out. His arm was around her waist but she quickly moved away when she caught sight of Walda. Walda raised her eyebrows a fraction before putting on her most cheerful smile. She presented the near empty container of names to them, reminding them of the Secret Stranger gift exchange.

Brienne smiled and drew a name. Jaime lurched forward, almost dropping his crutch.

"Oh dear, did you hurt your leg again? I thought I saw you without crutches the other day?" Walda asked sweetly. Brienne made a noise in the back of her throat and turned a particular shade of scarlet. Walda looked at her more closely. Brienne stared at her shoes.

Jaime glanced sideways at the tall woman before grinning at Walda. "Just took an unfortunate tumble off the couch. I’m told I’ll heal up in a couple of weeks," he answered. He grabbed a name from the jar.

"Is there a limit for the gifts? How much should we spend?" Brienne asked.

Walda beamed at her. "The limit for all seven nights is seventy dragons and you can spend it however you like.”

Jaime cleared his throat and moved a bit closer to Brienne who was now sandwiched between him and the wall. "Seventy dragons for the gifts. So, Walda, right? You seem like the right person to settle a debate Brienne and I are having. Do you and your husband Serial...Roose exchange gifts?"

Walda grinned at them both. “Of course we do. It’s supposed to be a secret, but I can always tell it’s Roosie. He knows just what to get me.” With a wink, she headed back towards the elevator, only to hear them murmuring behind her and then the door to Jaime’s apartment opening and closing. Drat. If only she’d gotten a peek inside. She was dying to see his kitchen. No matter. Walda was planning the best Winter’s Seven Nights they’d ever seen. She glanced at the bare hallway walls. Oh yes, she needed to get decorating.

***

Roose Bolton stared again the slip of paper in his hand. _Robert Baratheon._ The fat, drunken slob on the third floor. It shouldn’t be much of a problem to buy for him. A ten-dragon bottle of wine each day was far better than the man deserved. Roose’s bigger problem was his wife, Walda. She loved the holidays and she was easily pleased by a hanging bit of tinsel and sparkling lights, but he’d like to do something nice for her this season. He needed a plan. If there was one thing Roose Bolton, former intelligence operative, knew, it was how to make a plan.

***

Sansa Stark smiled at the slip of paper she’d drawn. _Roose Bolton._ He’d been so kind during her issues with Lady Pounce and he’d gotten her this new kitten. And besides, while Walda had some firm ideas about Winter’s Seven Nights, Sansa had read stories and knew that she knew how to do it the _right_ way. She kissed the top of Ser’s head. She’d be happy to be Dr. Bolton’s Secret Stranger. She picked out some yarn to start knitting.

***

 _Sansa Stark._ She was the young woman with the long red hair. Stannis Baratheon narrowed his eyes. He knew little of young women, except for Shireen. _His lovely girl, Shireen._ Shireen, who would be coming to their apartment in just over a week.

Stannis sighed. He was busy enough with work — at this time of year every panicked student populated the library, placing books willy-nilly in the stacks and making absurd requests of the reference desk. He loved Shireen, but in his original shared parenting agreement with Selyse, he wasn’t supposed to have her until after the university went on break. It was hard enough just to find gifts for Davos, who through his eBay contacts seemed to get incredible deals on nearly anything he wanted and thus wasn’t lacking for anything. But Davos liked clothes, so Stannis could at least buy him things at one of the more fashionable men’s clothing stores.

He couldn’t exactly shop in men’s clothing stores for his daughter, and now he had this third mysterious neighbor to buy for, the girl who did roller derby, wore hair bows and sometimes flower crowns, and occasionally wore dark-framed glasses not because she had poor vision but because she “liked the style.” She seemed particularly flighty. He’d have to get her gifts to remind her to be more practical with her life. At least he'd avoided having a cookie exchange. He looked at himself in the mirror, proud of the trim figure he worked so hard to maintain.

***

Walda huffed as she opened the slip of paper she’d neatly set aside before going on her rounds. _Stannis Baratheon._ Of course she would draw Stannis, the most difficult man at Kingsgate. She cocked her head to the side. She’d seen him eying the cupcakes she’d made for the last association meeting. She’d just bake for him. She could bake quite a lot with ten dragons’ worth of ingredients per day. She wondered who Roose had drawn. She hoped it was her.

***

Jaime Lannister’s leg was killing him. He shifted slightly in the bed to ease the ache, careful not to disturb the woman asleep beside him. He’d taken a tumble off the couch during a particularly fevered make-out session with Brienne, and it had re-injured his healing knee. She still blushed every time she looked at his air cast. He supposed it served him right for trying to be on top. She was more than willing to take charge once he got things going, but he had to find ways to get things going that accommodated his injury.

He’d drawn Walda Bolton, Baker Wife. She’d be easy enough. Seventy dragons seemed a rather tight per-day limit, but he’d make it work. He’d buy her things related to baking. He'd also seen her watching cooking shows on TV, acting as if she were the hostess. He smiled. There was probably nothing more in the world that Baker Wife wanted more than to have her own cooking show.

He’d offered to go Winter’s Seven shopping with Brienne, but she’d said her family didn’t really exchange gifts over the holidays. _It must be nice to be in a family so secure in their love that you don’t need to exchange gifts_ , he thought. In his family, every holiday was a competition to prove their love via the most exclusive and hard-to-obtain presents, and Father always let them know when they were lacking. Fortunately, now that they were adults they were only expected to exchange gifts on Stranger’s Eve — and, of course, pay homage to dear old dad on Warrior’s Eve. Bearded Bear did all that selling on eBay; perhaps he could give Jaime some tips on the latest hot luxury items.

He looked over at a bare, pale, freckled shoulder in wonder. He had thought he really knew Brienne from watching her for so long, but he'd only scratched the surface. It was that first night that he’d really gotten to stare into her pretty blue eyes, fall in to them even. She was so much more than P90X workouts and medieval movies and TV shows. It was hard to make her laugh, but worth it when she did. She always did the right thing. She was kind and caring. Look at all she’d done for Gilly, letting the girl move in and barely charging her rent. She was amazing. He couldn’t know the scent and heat of her skin through binoculars. _Gods, her skin_. He bit his lip as he traced a finger down her neck and across her shoulder blade.

Brienne rolled over on her back and he kissed her, longing for the day he could finally be on top.

***

Davos Seaworth checked out the name again, _Jaime Lannister_. The handsome blond man in the largest condo in the complex. Avid bird watcher. Davos was relieved it wasn’t Stannis’s brother, Robert. Lannister seemed nice enough and Davos was sure the lad had started seeing their sweet-natured neighbor, Brienne. _It was quite a trade up from that lout she’d previously dated_ , Davos thought. He’d run into Lannister in the mailroom earlier and noticed he was back on crutches from his injury. Davos was familiar with injury; he flexed his permanently mutilated hand in sympathy. Lannister could probably use some mobility aids and items to help with physical therapy. Davos knew just which gifts to get.

***

Brienne Tarth looked in wonder at the gorgeous man asleep in bed beside her. It was eight in the evening and aside from their attempted excursion to the grocery before being stopped by Walda, they’d spent most of day in bed. She still couldn't quite grasp that they were together. After the night she'd returned his lantern, he'd pursued her. Even she couldn't deny that it had been pursuit. She'd caught him lingering by the mailboxes more than once, unbelievably just to talk to her. He’d invited her to dinner, hobbled down to her place for lunch, held her hand in public, kissed her goodnight, then he’d started kissing her hello, then he’d just kept kissing her.

Their first time just a week ago had been awkward. His cast had just come off his hand and his arm was weak and fingers not quite so nimble. He was supposed to wear his knee brace regularly, but refused to wear it in bed. After the couch incident, she’d insisted on being on top.

Their relationship was moving more quickly than she’d expected, and she didn’t know how to put on the brakes even if she wanted. When he looked at her, there was no mocking in his eyes, not like her last boyfriend. Jaime looked at her with admiration and sometimes a little adoration and maybe something more than that.

He was already hinting that she should move into his condo and lease hers out to Gilly. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to stay with him. But sooner or later she’d have to explain her history to him. He was already mystified by why she wasn’t splurging on gifts for her family.

She wished she’d drawn his name but instead she’d drawn Davos. But that was all right. Davos had been the first person to welcome her when she’d moved in, and they’d dined at each other’s homes and gotten mail for each other enough that she thought she knew his taste well.

But now she had no excuse to get gifts for Jaime. She’d already told him she didn’t exchange gifts much during Winter’s Seven, but she hadn’t explained why. Anxiety tightened in her chest as she thought, _Someday I’m going to have to tell him about—_

He stirred beside her and opened his green eyes and smiled at her. Was it even possible that he was reaching for her? _Again?_

***

Margaery Tyrell leaned against the bathroom door and grinned down at the slip of paper she’d drawn. _Brienne Tarth._ Brienne. Tall, pale, strong Brienne with those amazing legs and beautiful eyes. If only Brienne had drawn her name! Margaery knew exactly what she wanted from the blonde.

Technically Brienne was on Margaery’s “list,” that list of five people for whom your partner gave you a hall pass if you had the opportunity to sleep with them. Most people kept it to celebrities — Sansa’s was loaded with unattainable people like the actress who ran that website _Hello Giggles_ , the director of _The Grand Myr Hotel_ , and the guy with the weird voice who hosted the radio show, _This Westerosi Life_ , but Sansa hadn’t minded Brienne being on Margaery’s list. Margaery sighed. Sansa hadn’t minded Brienne being on the list because she knew Brienne was hopelessly straight. Margaery had tried to kiss her once just to check, and Brienne had made it very clear she wasn’t interested. Now that she’d seen Brienne walking hand in hand with Jaime Lannister she realized why. Still, if Margaery couldn’t seduce Brienne, she could still spice up her love life with some sexy gifts.

***

Gilly sighed. _Margaery Tyrell_ , the dark-haired lesbian girl who fawned over Brienne, that’s who she’d drawn. She’d be easy enough to buy for, if Gilly could bear to part with the money to do it. Gilly had plenty of sisters, all as girly as Margaery.

She wondered who got her in the gift exchange. Brienne had already asked Gilly if she wanted anything. There were plenty of things that Gilly _needed_ , but looking at all those paired-up people walking hand in hand, there was just one thing she wanted. She just wished she had someone of her own this holiday season.

***

A slip of paper sat under Robert Baratheon’s door, unseen and unattended. The name read _Gilly Craster._

***

Samwell Tarly had dreaded winter; it was always a difficult time for the Crows, the postal service of the North. It wasn’t just the snow, which could be deeper than a man was tall; it was the wild animals. “Request a postal station in the woods!” Sam muttered to himself. “The woods’ll be relaxing, Sam. And the postal service is a low-stress job.” He felt his stomach tying up in knots at the thought of the things that hid deep in the forest. _Relaxing? Not hardly._ There were a million creatures that could kill you here in the far North.

He looked at the back of the envelope again to make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was a note. To him. Well, not him in particular, but to the postal carrier, and today that was him. He read it over again as he walked up the path to the house, counting his steps. He’d sworn he wouldn’t run this time. One, two, three...

_Dear Crow,_  
 _I've always imagined that you get lonely and bored on your routes, so I've decided to write you notes on my letters. I hope you don't mind. I’m Gilly and I moved to King's Landing a few months ago for college, but all of my sisters are still up North. I miss them. I feel like I don’t belong here. The customs are weird and the food is weirder. Now that Winter has come, it’s even harder. We are having a Secret Stranger gift exchange. I don’t even know anything about Winter’s Seven. Sometimes I just want to go home, back to what’s familiar and what I know, but I know it’s just loneliness. I hope you aren’t lonely, Crow. And if you are, at least you have these notes to read._  
 _Gilly_

Sam had never seen such a thing before. He looked at the return address on the envelope. _Gilly Craster, King's Landing_. He was lonely. He felt out of place. The customs were weird here in the North. They put gravy on their fried potatoes. Sam liked gravy, but not on fried potatoes. It was just wrong. He read the note over again, smiling to himself. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. On his thirty-ninth step, he heard the wolves howl in the distance, and he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text on commercialization of holidays comes from the brilliant [Harriet Beecher Stowe. ](http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/42658/)


	2. Crone's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Crone's Eve! Jaime is spying on his neighbors and Roose is convinced that someone dangerous is spying on his wife. Sam requests something that scares him. Stannis receives an irresistible gift. Sansa is fighting off a case of tinselitis. And there are two gifts outside Brienne and Gilly's door - but is either one for Gilly?

“Are you sure, Sam?” Jon Snow asked, looking up from the papers on his desk.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded.

His friend, the Postal Regional Commander, looked at him with a furrowed brow. “But I thought you hated the Craster trailer park route? It’s deep in the woods and there are all those dogs.”

Sam shivered at the thought, then remembered the sweet note from Gilly Craster. She’d said she’d write more. He’d tried being the sorter for that route, working over time, but there were just too many letters and he hadn’t come across another. That little note had carried him through for days.

“I want the route, Jon,” he said, drawing himself up as straight as he could.

Jon shook is head. “It’s yours then. Old Craster is a bastard, but his daughters are nice. One of them will decorate the trailer park for the holidays. No telling what it will look like. Different daughter does it every year. One year it was decorated with the Ghosts of Winter’s Past, Sam. You know how you feel about ghosts.”

Sam paled. _Ghosts._ Wolves, dogs, bears, foxes, owls. None of those terrified Sam as much as ghosts. He closed his eyes and remembered her words, _I hope you aren’t lonely, Crow._ Well. He was.

He looked Jon straight in the eye. “I want the route.”

***

Tyrion had thought that talking to his brother on the phone during his ridiculously early-morning office hours would at least make it easier to survive the inanities of the student essays he was about to read. Instead, Jaime had inanities of his own to share.

“‘This product, like all aerosol air fresheners, is unsafe to use around birds,’” Jaime said.

Tyrion rolled his eyes and shifted his phone to the other ear. He pulled out his notes for his lecture before responding to his apparently mentally deficient brother. “Are you really calling me this early to discuss air freshener? Why are you awake anyway?”

“I got up early because I want to deliver my Crone’s Eve gifts. And try to find out who Brienne’s Secret Stranger is. I can’t see into the hallways.”

“And you got someone air freshener?” Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, Crone’s Eve is for socks. I thought you were the smart one in the family,” Jaime said. “I was reading you the back of the air freshener can because it’s witty.”

“I think your pain meds must have just kicked in. It's witty that air freshener is unsafe to use around birds? Are you thinking of getting a bird? If you’re still spying on your neighbors, it might help your cover as a bird watcher.”

"No. Brienne wrote that, when she was an intern in college. She wrote for Pycelle and Gamble. She wrote the warnings on the back of their products. They still use her work.” Jaime’s tone was respectful 一 worshipful, even.

Tyrion flipped through his notes. "The next time our department head says that Westerosi literature is in decline, I’ll be sure to share your girlfriend’s brilliant epigrams.” It might be more brilliant that the essays he was about to read on the commercialization of the Winter’s Seven Nights, he thought.

“They still use her work. She's that good,” Jaime answered defensively. “Millions of people read her writing. How many people bought your book on Westerosi irregular verbs?”

Tyrion slammed his pen down on his desk. “Are you seriously comparing the work I spent six years of my life on, _Lessons of Our Ancestors: A Study of the Effects of Oral History on the Westerosi Language_  一 a work published by the Citadel Press, I’ll have you know 一 to the instructions on the back of a can of air freshener?”

Jaime was silent for a moment. “Well. No. Still, she's a writer.”

Tyrion wasn’t done. “Just because something is read by the masses does not make it great writing. If it did, I’d be teaching classes on _39 Shades of Grey,_ not Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare never had to write technical manuals for household appliances. I read her instructions on refrigerator installation. It was _brilliant,_ ” Jaime said.

Tyrion shook his head. When Jaime fell for a woman, he fell hard. At least Jaime wasn’t spying on her anymore. He hoped. “I’m sure you’re already making plans with her for every night of Winter’s Seven, but make sure to leave Thursday free. Father wants us to have dinner on Warrior's Eve. The traditional Lannister rah rah, hear us roar thing. Are you up to it?”

“Is anyone ever ready for dinner with Father?”

“Good point. But he expects us all to attend. He’s bringing Olenna.”

“We can bring dates this year?” Jaime almost sounded excited.

“Why would you want to bring a date? I believe Lannister dinners are cited as ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ in the Constitution.”

“Good point,” Jaime paused. “I'm going to invite Brienne.”

Tyrion popped the cap off of his pen, sending it skittering across the desk. “You're inviting her to meet Father and Cersei in the same night? Are you trying to get her to dump you already?”

"One of them is certain to be so horrible that she'll barely notice the other,” Jaime said. "And she may as well know what she’s getting into.”

“Well, what’s her family like?” Tyrion asked. The pen started leaking ink all over his notes. He dropped it and grabbed tissues to sop up the mess.

“I haven’t met them yet. I complain about ours so much that I think she’s afraid to talk about how perfect hers is,” Jaime said. “Why don't you bring a date as well? The more people in attendance, the less venom will be directed at any one person.”

Tyrion considered the idea. “Why not?” he answered, as he mentally ran through the list of all the women he knew. Surely there was some adjunct who owed him a favor, or perhaps a former “date” who’d be willing to do it if bonus money was involved. “Let's spread the holiday misery. Speaking of which, what are we getting Father for Stranger's Eve this year?”

“Absolutely no clue. I was going to leave that up to you.”

Tyrion reached into his desk drawer to get a new pen, but his hand was blocked by something squishy that crinkled. He fished out a soft package wrapped with what looked like hand-decorated wrapping paper. “We aren't getting each other the Seven gifts this year, right? Just the one?”

“After all your years of whining that Winter’s Seven is too commercial, I decided I would give you something that no one can put a price on. My gift to you will be to run interference the next time Father asks whether your latest girlfriend is respectable,” Jaime responded.

“A favor does not qualify as a gift. If you’re stumped for ideas refer to my Amazon wish list. I do like to unwrap things, you know,” Tyrion said, turning the package over in his hand.

“As I recall, you mostly like to unwrap women,” Jaime said. “So, what should I get Brienne? We had said we wouldn’t exchange gifts, but not giving her anything just feels...wrong.”

“So buy me something instead,” Tyrion said. “In addition to my Amazon wish list I have a carefully curated list of furniture I need to finish redecorating my office.”

Jaime kept talking. “I did get her a pair of socks for today that I saw her eyeing.”

“Tell me you saw her eyeing them over her shoulder in your apartment, not through your binoculars peering into her apartment,” Tyrion said.

Jaime was silent. Tyrion rolled his eyes. Jaime started talking again. “I think Brienne got me for our Secret Stranger swap. I got these really great compression socks on my doorstep this morning that will help ease the ache in my leg. I’m the only observant one in the building 一 anyone else would have just gotten me the cashmere socks in the bargain bin at Lemore-Marcus. She’s the only one who would think to get them for me.”

 _Socks._ He sighed. “You mean no one else is spying on their neighbors like you do.”

“I observe,” Jaime said firmly. “And now it’s paid off because I got Baker Wife exactly what she wanted 一 and she’s running this whole Secret Stranger thing. So 一 should I give Brienne the socks? She’s has a video conference this morning, but her roommate, Gilly, just left for class. I need to sneak it down there. And give Baker Wife her gift 一”

“I’ve heard rumors that women like it when you respect their wishes. Not that I have any personal experience to go by,” Tyrion said.

Jaime snorted. “Who doesn’t like presents? You bitch about the commercialization of Winter’s Seven every year and yet you still want them.”

Tyrion looked at the package. _Not this one,_ he thought. He tossed it back in the drawer.

Jaime started talking again. “All right 一 I need to use my phone hand for a better purpose. Time to sneak around the building to drop off presents.”

“You plan to sneak around your apartment complex using a crutch?” Tyrion shook his head at the image.

“Look, I've got to go. It’s Serial Killer’s late day at the clinic, but he just got back from his run which means I have thirty minutes before he leaves. And I want to see if I can find out her Secret Stranger. It better not be Serial Killer.”

The line went dead.

Tyrion dropped his phone on the package and started grading his essays. The first one he picked up was by that scholarship student, Gilly Craster. He tapped his pen between his teeth for a minute. Jaime had talked about Brienne’s roommate 一 could this be the same Gilly? He started to read and girded himself for the worst.

`The gift economy takes on a different format in the highly commercialized consumption society south of the Wall in Westeros. At no time is that more evident than during the celebration of Winter’s Seven, the most important consumption festival in the country. Work and academics all take a back seat to the festival, and the giving of gifts is used to both forge and reinforce relationships. The Westerosi long for a less cynical time, frequently envisioned as a generation or so ago, when the holiday held a purity it now lacks. However, essayists have been complaining the holiday is commercial and crass for hundreds of years. Ironically, most of the nostalgic images that Westerosi have about an earlier mythical noncommercial golden era of Winter’s Seven are themselves formed by advertising.`

Tyrion leaned back in his chair and looked at the essay thoughtfully. It was far better than he’d expected, although the girl clearly needed to use a thesaurus to find synonyms for the term “commercialization.” She’d obviously done research beyond the packet he’d given the class, and her tone was that of an anthropologist observing a foreign and not entirely familiar culture. And, considering her odd Northern accent, perhaps that was exactly what she was. He read along with interest, scribbling marginalia along the way.

Tyrion was finishing his commentary on Gilly’s paper when he heard a knock at his office door. “Need some help?” his TA Tysha asked. She was holding two cups in her hands. “Or some coffee?”

“Coffee is the best Winter’s Seven gift anyone could bring me,” Tyrion said. “One of my favorite authors did say that pain shared is pain divided. This will be the acid test of that theory. I assure you, I’ve just read the only A paper in the bunch.” He grabbed half the stack and plopped it down on the other side of his desk. “Here. You get the truly awful ones. It will teach you never to come to my office so early in the morning.”

He smiled at her as she sat down and handed him a coffee. He liked Tysha. She’d received several fellowships to cover the cost of her graduate school tuition, and one of them required her to be a teaching assistant. He thanked the Gods every day for that fact; unlike some of his earlier TAs, she was good at it. He’d take her on as a research fellow in a heartbeat.

“They won’t be that bad. They want to impress you, Dr. Lannister,” Tysha said.

He looked at her warm brown eyes and easy smile. “You need to call me Tyrion.”

She picked up the first paper. “All right, Tyrion. Do you have an extra red pen I could use?”

“I’ve cornered the market on red pens,” Tyrion said. He reached into the drawer, tossing his irritating ‘gift’ onto his desk in order to get to one.

She looked pointedly at the unopened package on his desk. “What's that?”

He picked up the package and offered it to her. “Socks, I would assume. Ill-fitting socks. It’s Crone's Eve, after all. I’ll be inundated with poorly fitting socks. My sister usually buys me children's socks. This is probably from some student looking to suck up for a good grade on a terrible essay. Why don't you take them?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You haven't even opened it yet. At least give them a look before you just give them away.”

He sighed and ripped open the package. They were socks. Hand-knit socks. And not like normal socks, either. He kicked off one shoe, stripped off his own and put on his Crone’s Eve gift. It fit perfectly 一 it was short enough so that the heel fit exactly where a heel should go, like a child’s sock might, but still wide enough to accommodate his broad feet with length that would just reach the mid-point of his calf. If that weren’t enough, they were black with a subtle weave of red and gold throughout 一 Lannister colors. They were the best socks he'd ever seen. He raised his eyes to look at the smiling Tysha and thought of her ever-present knitting bag. _May as well throw her in the deep end,_ he thought. “Do you have any plans for Warrior's Eve? Would you like to go to a very expensive and most likely miserable family dinner with me? There will be wine.”

***

Roose glanced up at the brightly colored metallic streamers decorating the ceiling of his home. “No more, Walda,” he said. “It’s becoming a fire hazard.”

“Oh, Roose,” she said, giving him a warm smile before she went back to scrambling their eggs. She made breakfast for him every morning, but on Mondays, when he opened the clinic late and stayed into the evening, she went to great lengths to make it special. “I just want our home to be perfect this holiday. After all, you started the week off with a perfect present.” Walda turned her foot to show off the hot pink slipper socks she was wearing, his gift to her.

Walda had done quite a nice job decorating their home, Roose had to admit. He had initially been concerned about what an interreligious marriage might mean for any children they would have. Walda had blended both traditions perfectly in her decorations, garlanding the traditional Winterfest Tree with the silver and gold of the Winter’s Seven holiday and putting a wreath around the base of the Winter’s Seven candelabra. Winter greenery mingled with silver and gold decorations throughout their home. In the South, Roose had often felt his traditional celebration was marginalized, but Walda had gone to great lengths to make sure the two were highlighted equally.

From outside their door, Roose heard a thump. His back stiffened.

“Would you make me a cup of herbal tea?” Roose asked. “I think I’d like something warm this morning.” As his wife puttered in the kitchen, oblivious, Roose calmly walked to the door, picking up the tall, narrow and heavy decorative jade figurine on the side table. Walda always wondered why he was so fond of the half-meter statue; what she didn’t know was that it was more due to its utility in hand-to-hand combat than any appreciation of its aesthetics that made it a favorite of her husband’s.

Roose listened carefully as he sidled toward the door. He could hear his wife singing to herself, but there weren’t any more sounds coming from the hallway. He jerked open the door to their home.

No one lurked on the other side, but on their welcome mat sat two gifts. Clearly their Strangers were late risers, as neither of the gifts had been on their doorstep when Roose had stepped out to place his own at Robert Baratheon’s door at five a.m.

Normally Roose would have quietly observed the behavior of his Secret Stranger target before he took action; he would apply the same methodology to his Stranger gifts that he once had to entrapping double agents. But he needed no observation to know what Robert Baratheon wanted. It wasn’t just that he’d seen the man drunkenly cross the courtyard with his floozies week in and week out; he’d also overheard Robert arguing with his brother Stannis. Gifts were easy enough; he placed a case of Five Socks Beer on Robert’s doorstep. He had not even needed to be stealthy about it as Robert had not been back to his apartment in days. Roose had not yet deduced who his and Walda’s Secret Strangers were, but he doubted they would exhibit similar powers of observation.

He picked up the gifts. One, a small package addressed to Roose, was festively wrapped in what looked like hand-printed paper. The other was much larger and the wrapping looked like a professional job. Roose recognized the wrapping paper right away; it was one of the styles that Wylla-Sonoma used to wrap their gifts. He had used it himself on some of the gifts he had prepared for his wife. Roose first glanced down the corridor, then looked down the stairwell to see if he could spot the Stranger, but no one was visible, nor could he hear anyone. He picked up the paper and the packages and shut the door.

“It appears our Strangers have deposited their first gifts on our doorstep,” he said.

“Oh, goodness, that reminds me!” Walda said, putting her hand on the sock-shaped tin that sat on the breakfast counter. “I need to go drop mine off.”

“Would you like me to place it on Stannis’s doorstep for you as I leave the building?” Roose said.

Walda put her hands on her hips. “And how did you know who my Secret Stranger target is?”

Roose merely raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you can’t have looked at the paper because I swallowed it as soon as I read it,” Walda said.

Roose picked up his teacup. “Yes, but you whispered ‘poopyhead’ as soon as you looked at the paper,” he said.

Walda shook her head at him. “You are so perceptive! Well, Dr. Phil does say that the secret to a healthy marriage is not keeping any secrets. But don’t tell me who you got! I want to guess.”

Roose smiled and picked up his fork.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Walda asked impatiently, gesturing at his gift.

“Yes, after I eat my breakfast,” Roose said, slowly taking his first bite. His wife was truly an excellent cook; it was taking additional effort for Roose to remain in fighting trim.

“You are exasperating, Roose Bolton!” Walda said, smiling as she said it. With no attention at all to her plate of eggs, she picked up the gift from her Stranger and tore it open. “Neoprene oven mitts!” she squealed. She looked at the note enclosed with the package. “My Stranger says they’re like socks for your hands. Roose! Hot Pie was just talking about these the other day on his show!” She waved them under his nose. “They’re pink! I didn’t even know they made them in pink! And they’re heat resistant up to five hundred degrees.”

Roose, of course, already knew this, but mostly for reasons relating to his former career. “Very nice, Walda.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She looked down and smiled. “I was so interested seeing these during Hot Pie’s show that I even wrote it down.” She looked up through her lashes at Roose. “I guess now I know who my Secret Stranger is.”

“It’s not me,” Roose said, shaking his head. But now he was wondering who it was. Walda had written down this very thing that she wanted 一 which meant the Stranger had access to their home in some way. Roose’s home was his castle. Even though all traces of his previous life had been expunged, there were still people with grudges out there. Dangerous people. _Braavosian people._ It was vital that he determine the identify of the invader.

“Now will you open yours already? I’m on the edge of my seat with anticipation!” Walda said.

With a thin smile, Roose picked up his package. It wasn’t taped; someone had used an old paper-folding technique to wrap it. It was easy enough to unfold without damaging the paper. Walda cooed over the print.

Inside were a pair of grey socks, hand-knitted. At first he thought they were textured, but no 一 the knitter had used two shades of grey to give the socks the illusion of texture. They had seemed like a simple pair of socks, but a perceptive eye could spot their complexity. Clearly the person who had knit them had been observing Roose for some time. “Quite nice,” he said.

Walda sniffed. “Well,” she said with no trace of a smile, “now I know who _your_ Secret Stranger is.”

***

Stannis opened the front door of the apartment to fetch the morning paper. The paper wasn’t the only thing on their doorstep. There was also a neatly wrapped package with Davos’s name on it and a metal tin in the shape of a sock with Stannis’s name painted on it as if it were knitted onto the side of the sock.

“What have you got there?” asked Davos sleepily, yawning as he poured his coffee.

“Gifts from our Strangers.” Stannis said the last word with as much sarcasm as he could manage. He placed the packages on the table.

Davos immediately tore open his package. “Oh, very smart,” he said, holding up the socks. They were grey, but with a narrow line of brightly colored argyle up the side. “That will add a little flash to my wardrobe.”

Stannis opened the small metal tin. Inside were a dozen sock-shaped cookies, each with incredibly detailed frosting. One was houndstooth, another was argyle; every cookie had its own bright pattern.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Davos said. Putting his hand on Stannis’s shoulder. “They look far too good to eat. Let me go get my mobile so I can take a photo and post it to Instagram.” He headed toward the bedroom.

Stannis looked over the cookies. The frosting was, as Davos had pointed out, too pretty to be edible. It was impossible that they would taste as good as they looked. He would need to try just one to be sure.

Three minutes later, Davos came back. “Sorry, I had an urgent message from a customer 一 oh, Stannis.”

There were just a few crumbs left in the cookie tin 一 and a few crumbs around Stannis’s mouth. “There weren’t very many,” Stannis said. “And it was, after all, a gift to me.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course it was,” Davos said with a sigh.

***

Gilly unzipped her hoodie as she entered the condo building and used the sleeve to mop the sweat off her brow. She’d been going around in a thin jacket like she usually did when the weather was this good, but so many of her classmates had given her pitying looks, saying, “Gods, you must be _freezing!_ ” that she started wearing her hoodie underneath just to prove that she wasn’t as poor as they thought she was. She looked at the two packages outside the condo’s door, excited about her very first Secret Stranger gift, but when she picked them up, they both had Brienne's name on them.

She sighed and opened the door.

Brienne turned to her with a half-smile. “Hey Gilly, how were classes today?”

Gilly held out the gifts to her. “These’r for you. Dr. Lannister had our Winter’s Seven essays graded and ready to give back.”

“Have you told him yet that you know his brother?”

GIlly shook her head. “Twouldn't be right. I wouldn't want him to think I do for Jaime just to get a grade from him. ”

Brienne nodded and looked at the gifts. “Both for me?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed. “Didn't you get anything?”

Gilly shrugged and shook her head again. “Doesn't appear so. Open yours up.”

Brienne frowned. "Maybe your Secret Stranger is waiting to get you a big gift for Stranger's Eve,” Brienne said as she tore into the first package, pulling out a pair of the longest knee socks Gilly had ever seen, with stripes in three shades of blue repeating all the way up. Brienne laughed quietly and leaned against the counter as she measured them against her very long legs. “I was looking at these just the other day,” Brienne said. “Thank you, Gilly. I know these are expensive.”

“’Twasn’t me,” Gilly said, shaking her head. “I got 一”

“No, don’t tell me!” Brienne said, holding up her hand. “It wouldn’t be right for me to find out before Stranger’s Eve.”

Gilly rolled her eyes. Of course Brienne took such things seriously. Brienne put the socks on the counter and Gilly ran a hand over them. “Feels like they’re made of kittens,” Gilly said.

“It’s merino wool,” Brienne said absently as she opened the other package. She started to pull out something black and filmy before turning an interesting shade of pink. “Oh, my goodness. Well, this is 一” She didn’t finish the sentence. Before Gilly could get a glimpse of the goods, Brienne had shoved them back into the package. “I’m just going to go into my room for a few minutes. But then I’ll make us lunch, all right?” She dove into her bedroom, knee-high socks abandoned on the counter.

Gilly guessed it must have been a present from Jaime. Brienne seemed to think Gilly needed to be sheltered, but Gilly had seen a lot in her time up North 一 a few sexy underthings weren’t gonna scare her none.

She looked at her pile of homework on the dining room table and sighed. _At least I can study some for finals,_ she thought. But it sure would have been nicer if she had a cute boy to study with.

She pushed her homework aside, picked up a piece of paper and started to scribble a letter to one of her sisters.

***

Sansa hustled across the Old Yard toward the Aerys Targaryen Memorial Library, glancing up at the historic grandeur of University Hall and Memorial Sept with a smile. Everything about King’s University was perfect 一 the old historic buildings that had been retrofitted with the latest equipment, the crunch of the leaves under her booted feet, even the crisp wintry air that made her nestle a little deeper into her big wool peacoat. She’d spent her undergrad years at a state school down in Dorne, all ugly modernist buildings and eternal summer with no excuse to wear her cutest fuzzy sweaters. She’d leapt for joy when she got accepted to King’s for graduate school. This, she thought to herself, was exactly what going to college was supposed to be like.

“Sansa!” she heard a voice call out. She looked across the quad to see Tysha, a fellow grad student in her knitting group. She waved back. Tysha was an older student, but even though she was in her late 20s she hadn’t calcified into some grumpy and cynical version of adulthood 一 Tysha still believed. When the brunette got closer, she asked, “How many pairs did we have in the end?” Tysha asked.

Sansa smiled. “Thirty-nine needy children each got a pair of hand-knit socks from the Crone this morning.” By the end of her sentence, she was bouncing up and down on the soles of her booted feet.

Tysha squealed with joy and wrapped Sansa in a hug. “This is so wonderful! I’m so glad you had the idea. Yarn-bombing is fun, but this year I feel like I did something real.”

Sansa tucked her hair behind her ear. “Margaery’s the one that does everything for the shelter. I just wanted to figure out a way I could contribute.”

“Speaking of Margaery, how did she like the socks you knitted for her?” Tysha asked. “That lace pattern was so hard!”

Sansa smiled. “Margaery loved them.” But Margaery had also cooed over the cheap pink store-bought socks with lace trim that her Secret Stranger had given her. How could Margaery be so excited about cheap, trashy store-bought socks? Sansa could feel her ire rising again. She took a deep breath. _Don’t give in to tinselitis,_ she thought to herself. “And my Secret Stranger left me a great book on sock knitting patterns. I can’t wait to try them out. And did your giftee like his socks?” she asked.

Tysha blushed. “He seemed to,” she said. “He asked me to Warrior’s Eve dinner.”

“Dinner?” Sansa said, bouncing once again. They hugged and bounced together this time, the dead leaves crunching under their feet. “Are you going to tell me who he is?” Sansa asked.

“Not yet,” Tysha said, pushing her wool knit beanie back on her head. “I want to see where it goes first.”

Sansa said “Well, I hope you get the Secret Stranger gift 一”

“一that’s in your heart of hearts.” Tysha chimed in, saying the second half of the crucial line from _Shagga the Shaggy Stag._ “And speaking of Secret Stranger, how is your planning for your Stranger’s Eve party going?”

“Ugh!” Sansa said. “There’s this other woman in our complex. She decorated all the public spaces last night.”

“That’s good,” Tysha said.

“No!” Sansa said. “She decorated it in the worst way possible. It was a nightmare of silver and gold. There was nothing cute or cuddly about it; it was just cold. Like a department store display. One of the old people ones.”

“Ugh,” Tysha agreed with a shudder.

Sansa took a deep breath. “But I need to respect her efforts. It may not be to my taste, but she put in so much work.” Sansa tried very hard to believe that in her soul, to believe that Walda was more than a cold and cackling consumerist trying to turn Winter’s Seven into a foil-wrapped version of itself. ”I think I need to do some work to make everyone know I worked just as hard on Stranger’s Eve as she did on the Secret Stranger thing.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Tysha asked.

Sansa rested one finger on her lips. “Tysha,” Sansa said, “you’re TAing a unit on Winter’s Seven this year, right?”

Tysha nodded, a wry half-smile on her face. “I’ve been helping the freshman comp students with the second draft of their essays. Their knowledge of the holiday traditions begins and ends with _Shagga the Shaggy Stag.”_

Sansa looped her arm through Tysha’s and began walking them in the direction of the library. “I’m arranging the Stranger’s Eve party for our building, and I need to make it the best ever. Do you know where I can find the books on historical celebrations of Stranger’s Night?”

“I won’t just lead you to them,” Tysha said, giving Sansa’s arm a squeeze. “I’ll give you access to Dr. Lannister’s personal archive of material.”

***

Brienne stared at the document open on her laptop. She should be concentrating on her new commission, writing an instruction manual for a new blender. She should be able to write this with ease. It was her third set of blender instructions this year, but all she could think about was Jaime. She’d actually typed his name into the instructions. _Twice._ She pulled her legs up under her on the couch.

Her Crone's Eve gift had been surprising, shocking even, but it have given her a bit of a thrill. She bit her lip and glanced up towards Jaime's windows. Black thigh-high stockings, extra long. She'd never been one for lingerie. She'd never had a boyfriend that seemed interested in seeing her in that kind of thing. Most of the time it had been a rushed fumble in the dark.

Jaime wasn’t like that at all. He liked the lights on if it was dark, but the middle of the day was fine with him, morning, afternoon. He wasn’t particular. He’d want her whenever the mood struck him, and it seemed to strike him a lot. He also seemed to actually _like_ looking at her. And touching her. All the time.  _Stop Brienne. Get to work,_ she told herself. She shifted on the couch again.

 _Stockings._ It had to have been Jaime. No one else in the complex would get her such a thing. She paused for a moment. Maybe Robert Baratheon. She cringed at the thought. When she'd first moved in, she'd come across him drunk in the courtyard and he'd made a half-hearted pass at her. She'd only seen him a few times since, most recently at the COA meeting two months ago, when he'd sneered at her in disgust and then gleefully eaten an entire plate of cookies while grinning at Stannis. It had been ugly. It was hard to imagine the two men as brothers. No, it wouldn't have been Robert.

The striped socks. Those were obviously from Gilly. Brienne had shown the girl the socks just a week ago. It worried her to think Gilly was spending money on gifts. Brienne resolved to get her something nice for Stranger's Eve. The girl needed things. Brienne just wasn't sure how to go about it without embarrassing her. And Gilly had been such a help to Jaime.

 _Jaime._ She glanced at his windows again, wishing the setting sun didn't reflect off them in quite that way. She wished she could see him, walking around his apartment. _Was he thinking of her?_ He certainly made her feel as if he thought of her all the time.

The phone on the couch next to her vibrated. Jaime’s face filled the screen. Green eyes, golden hair and smiles. She answered.

“Happy Crone's Eve, Wench,” Jaime responded.

“Why do you call me that? My name is Brienne.”

He was silent on the other end of the line. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but “wench”? _Honestly._

“It’s my nickname for you.” He sounded a little hurt.

“Do I get to have a nickname for you?” She closed her laptop. She certainly wasn't going to get any work done now.

“Oh, I can think of a few names you could call me, a few things you could whisper in my ear, or scream 一”

“Did you get a nice pair of socks for Crone’s Eve?” she interrupted.

“I did, they are amazing. Just amazing.” He sounded so happy. She felt guilty for not getting him anything.

“How about you?” His voice seemed, lower, huskier. “Did you like your Crone’s Eve gift?”

She shivered. “They were very nice. Although I'm not sure what I would wear them with.” She fiddled with the edge of the pillow.

She could almost feel his chuckle vibrating through the phone. Goosebumps rose on her skin.

“You could wear them with anything,” he answered. “Or nothing at all...”

Brienne was certain her face was burning. “I...well...I mean...I suppose...I could if you 一”

“Hey. That reminds me. Would you want to come to Warrior's Eve dinner with me to meet Father? And my brother, Tyrion. You'll like him. My sister should be there too, but she’ll probably be distracted by Tyrion. They hate each other. Cersei is horrible, but Tyrion is nice.” He paused. “Mostly.”

“Dinner with your family?” Brienne choked.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you so much about them,” Jaime muttered. “I know, spending time with my family isn’t exactly a gift, unless you’re thinking of one of the prank gifts that the Stranger gives to bad little boys and girls. But we’ll get dressed up. We’ll sit at the end of the table and play footsie while everyone snipes at each other over dinner. We can make it special.”

Dressed up. In thigh high stockings. She glanced over at the flowers he had sent her just a few days ago, blue orchids. She didn’t even know there were blue orchids. She inhaled. “Dinner with your family. It sounds nice.” She unfolded one leg from beneath her and stretched it out, pointing and flexing her foot, thinking about the stockings. They had seams up the back. How was she supposed to keep them straight? “I’ll dress up.”

Jaime coughed on the other end of the line. “Great, just great.” He inhaled sharply. “So...since you're not doing anything, why don't you come up and we can make some dinner?”

She furrowed her brow, “How do you know I'm not doing anything?” She extended her other leg, pulling both knees to her chest before lifting both straight in the air, trying to work out some tension in her lower back.

She could hear him inhale sharply as she looked up at her flexed her feet, stretching her hamstrings. “Oh, well, you're talking to me and not rushing to get off the phone, so I just thought you probably weren’t doing anything, now. Anything. Doing.”

“Well, as it happens, I was trying to work, but I am hungry.” She blushed at the memory of their last cooking experience which ended in a pile of limbs and panting on the kitchen floor. She rubbed absently at the tile-burn on her knee. If she went to dinner at Jaime’s, no work would get done tonight. She looked over at the laptop and made a decision. “Is there something I need to bring up?”

“That gallon of chocolate ice 一 I mean, ice cream. If you have any.”

It just so happened that she did.

***

Sam almost couldn’t contain his excitement. Another envelope. Another note.

_Dear Crow,_

_Crone’s Eve is coming. I always thought these Southroners were a bit touched. A holiday dedicated to socks? That proves it. I hope I get some, though. My favorite socks just got a hole in the heel. I miss it up there, Crow. Have they decorated the trailer park yet for the holiday? Is it twinkling and bright?_

_Thinking of you,_  
_Gilly_

Sam thought of his own Crone's Eve gift, a pair of woolen socks from Jon, bought at the local market. Nothing special, nothing unusual, although it was nice to at least Jon was trying to help him celebrate. He let his mind wander. He imagined Gilly; he could picture her soft brown hair and warm smile. They'd meet for dinner on Crone's Eve and she'd have knitted him socks, slightly mismatched socks decorated with little black crows. He'd have gotten her those fuzzy no-slip socks that girls always seemed to like. She'd smile at him and lean over and 一

The barking pulled him out of his reverie. He looked up at the next stop on his route, glad he had no packages to deliver. They had dogs. He was terrified of dogs. He'd never been the bravest of men, as his father reminded him daily as a child, but he was a good Crow. He delivered the mail on his route on time, no matter the weather. Still. _Dogs_. He shuddered as he closed in on the Craster trailer park, looking for signs of decorations.

Oh, it was decorated all right 一 decorated with thirty-nine shining, lit effigies of ice monsters that seemed to come to life in the glow of the street lights. As he passed through the gates, one seemed to lurch straight for him. He jumped back, shouting. The ice monster made a mechanical cackling noise from a speaker inside its mouth.

“It’s just another Northern custom. That’s all it is,” he muttered to himself. But he kept as far away from the big ice man as possible as he slipped through the gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic would not be possible without the brilliance of [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice/works). Our Aerys Targaryen Memorial Library is homage to her [Aegon Targaryen Memorial Library Universe](http://archiveofourown.org/series/60678)


	3. Father's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father's Eve has come and it's time to break out the ugly sweaters. Two more gifts arrive for Brienne. Two unexpected visitors arrive at the Kingsgate Arms. Will Stannis resist his latest gift? Will dinner plans be ruined? Will someone get hurt?

Gilly shook the snow from her hair as she entered the building. It was only a light dusting, but they were talking about declaring a snow emergency. It was ridiculous.

Two gifts on their doorstep again today. Both for Brienne. She scooped them up and opened the door. Brienne was working out in front of the living room window again wearing one of her sportsbras and shorts. She understood having clothes just for exercising, she’d had a T-shirt and sweatpants for gym class, but the amount that Brienne spent on workout clothes made from “technical fabrics,” it boggled Gilly’s mind. What was the point of spending so many dragons to “wick away sweat” when you were exercising in your living room and could just hop in the shower?

Brienne nodded at her and held out a finger indicating she’d be done in a minute. Gilly set the packages down on the table and glanced up at Jaime’s windows and thought about the binoculars he kept in the end table drawer by his big windows. Brienne was stretching, almost like she was putting on a show. Gilly shook her head. Southroners were weird, but it weren’t none of her business if Jaime liked to look and Brienne enjoyed him watching. Her sisters had done weirder things. _Wasn’t any_ , she corrected herself.

Brienne finished her stretching and turned to Gilly. “How was class today?”

Gilly shrugged. She hadn’t had class. She’s gotten up early to get her graded essay back from Dr. Lannister, then she’d spent a miserable hour in the Financial Aid office arguing with the advisor about her getting her monthly living expense check and then ten wonderful minutes in the Grant Management office being told she’d have that check as soon as the professor signed off on the request. _If_ he would sign off on the request.

Brienne went to the refrigerator and pulled out one of her special sports drinks. She held the door open and motioned for Gilly to look. “I picked up some groceries early this morning if you want a late breakfast.”

Gilly looked inside. There was enough food to feed all of her sisters. Fresh fruit and vegetables, regular milk, chocolate milk, three kinds of juices. She couldn’t afford all that. “Lemme get my wallet and you let me know how much I owe you.”

Brienne shook her head emphatically and stared at a bundle of celery. “No. I don’t think I was clear when we made our rental agreement. The basic groceries are included with the rent. You have to buy anything special yourself, unless you put it on the white board to let me know. Then I'll just pick it up.”

That _hadn’t_ been their agreement and Brienne was a terrible liar. Even her stomach was blushing.

“’S’nice of you, but I don’t need charity,” Gilly sighed. Brienne was just so nice, but Gilly didn’t want to be in her debt. It made her stomach uncomfortable.

Brienne turned to her and shut the refrigerator door. “Really Gilly, it’s not charity. I hadn’t realized how nice it would be to have someone here, taking care of the place, since I’ve been spending so much time,” she paused and bit her lip, the flush rising in her cheeks again, “away. You’re doing me the favor and it’s just groceries.”

Gilly stared down at the gifts on the table, feeling her lip start to quiver. She quickly changed the subject. ”Looks like your Secret Strangers have been to work.”

“Nothing for you, again?” Brienne asked.

Gilly shook her head, lip quivering again. She forced it to stop. She was _Gilly Craster._ She’d had worse things happen than someone not getting her a present. She wouldn’t cry over that.

Brienne nodded vigorously. “Your Secret Stranger is definitely going to get you something wonderful for Stranger’s Eve.”

“S’allright,” Gilly responded and headed off to her room. She wouldn’t cry. _She wouldn’t._

***

Davos had opened the door to see Stannis off only to find a package on their welcome mat addressed to himself. From its shape and size, Davos guessed that it was a book. The moment he unwrapped it, he saw he was right 一 and what a book it was! _The Scott Catalogue of Errors on Westerosi Postage Stamps_ sprinkled in the history of postage stamps in Westeros along with the photos of errors. He’d been thinking of broadening his eBay store to philately, and this book was a perfect start.

There was a small cake too, frosted to look like an open book. Stannis took a look at it and nodded. “It has an aesthetic appeal,” he said before handing it over to Davos. Davos was relieved that Stannis’s Secret Stranger had moved away from cookies to other treats. After Stannis had gone, Davos cut himself a slice of fluffy, moist cake to have with his tea and took a peek at his new book.

He had gotten so used to buying e-books that he’d forgotten that new-book smell. He could have lost himself in it all day, but he still had gifts to buy for Winter’s Seven Nights. There were gifts for Stannis’s daughter but those could wait until Stannis got home. The most important gift for him to work on now was his Stranger’s Eve gift for Stannis 一 a romantic getaway.

As he looked up winter vacation destinations, he heard a sound from the stairwell, slowly getting louder.

It was a sort of dragging sound, followed by a thump and the sound of feet. For a moment Davos wondered if his chilly upstairs neighbor Roose had murdered someone and was trying to hide the body. He dismissed the thought just as quickly as it crossed his mind. Davos had once come across the man carrying his exceedingly plump wife Walda up the stairs as if she were light as a feather. If Roose was transporting a body, they probably wouldn’t hear a sound.

Besides, the step-step-drag-thunk noise was getting closer, not further away. _Who would want to drag a body up the stairs?_ Davos closed his laptop and stepped out the door to check.

At first he didn’t see anyone, but then saw a small brown-haired figure climb onto the landing below, then haul a suitcase as big as she was up the step after her. It took him a moment to realize it was Stannis’s eleven-year-old daughter, Shireen.

“Shireen!” Davos said, racing down the stairs. “Don’t move that bag another step. I’ll get it.” He felt a wave of panic. Had he mistaken the day? Had they forgotten to pick her up?

When he got closer he could see Shireen’s forehead was beaded with sweat, her cheeks red with exertion. “Let me get that,” Davos said, and wrapped his hand around the top handle of the bag. He grunted a little as he picked it up. “You hauled this all the way up those stairs?” he said. “It must have been close to forty.”

Shireen nodded, gasping for air. “Thirty-nine steps from the curb,” she choked out.

“Come on, sweetling. I’ll take it the rest of the way and you can catch your breath,” he said. Slowly they made their way up the last few steps. Davos rested one hand on her shoulder. The other arm, he could tell, would be sore from lifting the bag. Clearly loading auction items onto eBay was doing nothing for his fitness levels. “I thought you were coming tomorrow,” he said.

“Mother said that R’hllor needed her,” Shireen said. “She dropped me off on her way to the airport.”

And without even a call. Selyse’s behavior had become more and more erratic lately. He could only imagine how little Shireen must feel to be discarded like that. “Next time, call. I’ll help you get your bag up the stairs.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Shireen said. There was something about the way her shoulders slumped that made Davos think she’d often been hearing she was a bother lately.

“You are many things, Shireen, but a bother you are not. ‘Tis the season for surprise gifts, and I know that there’s no gift your father wants more than to have you here,” he said. He opened the door to the apartment and let her in. “I’ll put this in your room and then I’ll cut you a slice of this cake and make you a glass of hot cocoa,” he said, then looked over Shireen’s dishevelled, overheated state. “Or maybe a nice glass of ice-cold chocolate milk. And then you can help me put the candles in the Winter’s Seven candelabra.”

As he put the bag in her room, he glanced out the window to see that Lannister lad at his own window, clearly bird-watching again. Davos glanced in the sky, but clearly he didn’t have the right angle to see whatever bird had Lannister so interested. Davos hoped he’d like the book on proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation. Maybe he should have gotten him a book on the local bird population instead.

***

“Brienne finished her workout and is talking to Gilly,” Jaime said into his mobile phone. “Baby Bear has come to stay. She looks upset. Bearded Bear is cutting her some cake.”

“I can't believe you're still spying on your neighbors,” Tyrion said.

Jaime shifted the phone so he could adjust the binoculars. “I left Baker Wife a Father's Eve gift and I just want to make sure she got it and that she likes it.”

“Didn't you tell me she has a name?”

“Walda. And Serial Killer's name is Roose. He’s a vet. When his patients die, he likes to stuff them and mount them, so I wasn’t wrong when I said he was smuggling out corpse parts. It’s just not human corpses...yet.” Jaime refocused, holding the phone firmly between his shoulder and ear. “If I ever go missing and you receive a life-size lifelike replica of me, he’s the first person you should investigate.”

“I would think that he’d be bright enough not to send me your taxidermied corpse,” Tyrion said.

“Maybe he’d be smart enough to wash his DNA off me first,” Jaime said. “What kind of a name is Roose anyway?”

“Are you really interested in the etymology of names? Because I could give you a lecture on that.” Tyrion sounded a little too enthusiastic.

“You lecture me enough, little brother.” Jaime shifted the binoculars. “Brienne should have just stayed here last night.”

“How long have you been dating again? A month? And she’s spending the night?”

“It was still summer when we had our first date.” Jaime considered it their first date, anyway, that sweltering summer night that was the last night of the rolling blackouts. “It’s been four months and three days since she scaled the fire escape to my apartment. Gilly’s going into her room.”

“Not that you’re counting. Did you give her a ring for your four monthiversary?” Tyrion asked.

“No. I gave her flowers. That’s traditional for four months. I’m thinking of giving her a hand-carved wooden bowl for our fifth monthiversary,” Jaime said. He monitored the look on her face as she saw the workout book he’d given her. From her smile, it was a home run. He pumped his fist in the air. He glanced over at the physical therapy book she had gotten him. She was making it pretty clear she wanted him healthy and more active, soon. He flexed his knee and winced.

“Wood is traditional for a five _year_ anniversary,” Tyrion said.

“Things move faster in the modern world,” Jaime said. “If we lived in in the Targaryen era I would have had to court her for a year before I brought her to meet Father.”

“If you’d lived in the Targaryen era, the first time you saw her face would have been on your wedding day, after Father squeezed her parents for the biggest dowry he could get,” Tyrion said. “What did you say her parents did again?”

“I haven’t gotten around to asking,” Jaime said. “Anyway, she also said she doesn’t want the neighbors to gossip about us. As if I would care.”

“You think your neighbors don’t spy on you?” he heard Tyrion ask.

“Why would they?” Jaime mumbled. He was focused on the sizeable box Brienne held in her hand. It wasn’t from him. It must have been from her Secret Stranger. Jaime furrowed his brow, wondering who in the complex was getting Brienne gifts. Whoever they were, they were sneaky 一 he hadn’t spotted them yet.

“Oh, I don’t know. Why would anyone spy on their neighbors?”

“Hold on. She got a box. Whatever it is, it’s got her flustered. She’s turning beet red. Maybe it's a book. I can't see what the front says.” She glanced up at his window and he took a step back, stumbling into his chair and wrenching his knee. “Fuck.”

“The box says fuck?” Tyrion asked.

“No, she almost caught me and I twisted my knee backing away from the window.” His leg throbbed. Brienne had gone back into her bedroom so he shifted his focus to look at Baker Wife again. “She got the cookbook. She loves it. I am the best Secret Stranger.”

“I'm sure you're wonderful. You got Brienne a cookbook?”

“Why would I get Brienne a cookbook? I got the book for Baker Wife. She watches that cooking show _Happiness with Hot Pie_ every day. I got an advance copy of his new cookbook and had it autographed.”

“How much are you spending on this Secret Stranger thing?”

“It's seventy dragons per day, but you can save some up for a big gift for Stranger's Eve.”

“Isn't that steep for a condo group?”

“Steep? Have you ever tried to buy a great gift for just seventy dragons?” Jaime knew some of the shops had pre-wrapped gifts for less, but what was the fun if it wasn’t special? “I want to get something for Brienne for Stranger’s Eve. What should I get her?”

“Jaime, isn’t it a little soon?”

Jaime was silent for a moment. “I already got her those socks. And that book.”

“Of course you did.”

“You and I still need to get something for Father.” He glanced at a figure making its way across the courtyard, then refocused his binoculars on the Young Lesbians. “Do you think he’d like a sweater?”

***

Margaery held up another sweater. She hadn’t thought it was possible to make the traditional Winter’s Seven colors look like Technicolor vomit, but this sweater managed it. She looked closer. “Gods. Shagga’s hooves have a manicure on this one!” She turned around to show it off to Sansa, who was sitting on their bed. “Do you think it’s ugly enough?”

Sansa glanced up from her knitting. “It’s ugly.”

Margaery looked in the mirror. “Yes, but is it winningly ugly?” she asked. Sansa’s phone buzzed.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Margaery asked.

“It’s my mom,” Sansa said. “She’s texting me with a list of things we’re going to do while she’s here for Mother’s Eve. She wants to go to department stores.” The last two words were said with an air of doom. Sansa preferred the adventure of digging for great finds in thrift stores and preached that it was more ecologically responsible. “I need to get this sweater done before she gets here tomorrow. I’ll text her back later.”

“Well, you can still help me pick the best worst sweater,” Margaery said. “You found thirty-nine and I just can’t decide.” She rubbed her hand over the next one on the pile. “Not this one. It’s so scratchy I’ll be one big hive by the time the night is over.”

“I thought you were giving those away?” Sansa said.

“Not giving. Auctioning. Not everyone owns an ugly dad sweater to wear to the Father’s Eve Ugly Sweater contest. I’m auctioning these off at the beginning to raise more money for the shelter.” She turned her body again in front of the mirror, dropped the sweater she was holding, then picked up another one, soft as a cloud in her hands. It had that weird, stale thrift-store smell to it. “What about this?” she asked.

“That’s 一” Sansa said passively, staring at her knitting. Then she finally looked up. “The Maiden looks like she has facial boils!”

Margaery smiled into the mirror. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,” she said, tossing the sweater onto a chair. She looked at the book sitting on the seat. “ _101 Toughest Job Interview Questions and How to Answer Them_?” she asked.

“From my Stranger,” Sansa said with a shrug. “I liked the book of knitting patterns I got yesterday better.”

Margaery reached into her bag and pulled out a box. “Well, my stranger gave me _Kittyopoly_.”

Sansa actually looked up from her knitting. “ _Kittyopoly_? The game of kittens and real estate?” she asked delightedly.

“I think this game came from a thrift store. It’s clearly used,” Margaery said, running her hand along the worn surface.

“Of course it is. They haven’t made it since we were kids,” Sansa said. “I’ve been looking for one for years!”

“Would you like to trade?”

“Yes, please,” Sansa said, going back to her knitting. “And I noticed someone else gave me a book of _Naughty Knitting Patterns For the Bedroom and Beyond_ ,” she said, looking up through her eyelashes flirtatiously at Margaery.

“And that same Stranger can’t wait to wear them for you. But that Stranger is also wondering if you’ll ever put down your current knitting project. We need to get ready to go if we’re going to make that dinner reservation. And you’ll be willing to be a judge tonight, won’t you?” She smiled as sweetly as she could.

“If you make me a judge I’ll have to disqualify you from the contest since you’re my girlfriend,” Sansa said.

Margaery sighed. “You’re too ethical for your own good.”

Sansa smirked. “You mean I’m too ethical for _your_ own good.”

“Well, regardless, we have to get ready soon,” Margaery said. “So finish casting off or purling or 一”

“You’re cute when you use knitting terms you don’t understand,” Sansa said, smiling. Margaery crawled up the bed to steal a kiss.

The doorbell rang.

“It’s probably Walda with more awful cookies,” Sansa mumbled.

Margaery had quite enjoyed the cookies, but when it came to the ongoing baking and crafting war between Sansa and Walda, she was rapidly learning that keeping her mouth shut was the key to a good relationship. “Maybe it’s Davos coming to borrow some sugar,” she said. “I’ll go get it.”

“I'll go freshen up while you hold Walda off,” Sansa grinned.

 _Maybe it’s Brienne asking me to give her some sugar_ , Margaery thought as she crossed the living room toward the door. She’d left another naughty gift on the tall woman’s doorstep for Father’s Eve. _Maybe she’s looking for someone to play it with_ , she thought to herself, even though she knew Brienne would probably use it with Jaime Lannister. Still, Sansa would probably be happy to have Margaery play sexy board games with Brienne if it gave Sansa more time to knit.

When she opened the door, there was indeed a woman on the other side of it 一 just the wrong woman.

“Catelyn!” Margaery said, loudly enough so that Sansa could hear. “It’s delightful to see you!”

“Margaery.” Catelyn reached out and gave her a hug. As they embraced, Margaery noted the two suitcases sitting next to her in the hall. “How have you been?”

“I’m doing well,” Margaery said, stepping aside so that Catelyn could bring her bags in. “I’m sorry about the state of our apartment. I must have gotten the dates confused.”

“The agency decided to give everyone an extra day off for good behavior. The boys and Arya are going on their annual trip to commune with the forest, so I thought I’d take the chance to get a little shopping in. I sent Sansa a few texts. Didn’t she 一”

“Mom!” Sansa said from their bathroom doorway. She was holding her phone in one hand and looked pale. “It’s 一 it’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Catelyn said. She hugged her daughter. Sansa looked over Catelyn’s shoulder at Margaery, a panicked expression on her face.

“Come to think of it, Sansa must have said something earlier,” Margaery lied. By the time Catelyn turned around, Margaery had plastered a welcoming smile on her face again. “I must have forgotten in all the chaos 一 I’m sure Sansa told you I’m running a big charity event tonight.”

“The Father’s Ugly Sweater party. Yes, she told me. I even raided Ned’s closet,” Catelyn said, handing Margaery a plastic bag.

Margaery looked in the bag. “Oh.” She laughed. “These could both be winners,” she said.

“Well, don’t ever tell Ned that I gave them to you. He insists on pulling them out every Stranger’s Eve just to torture me. I’m telling him they were destroyed in the dryer,” Catelyn said.

Sansa shot Margaery a look; by this time they had been together long enough that Margaery knew exactly what that look meant. She sighed inwardly but put on a smile. “Perhaps you could wear one of those sweaters and come to the party with us,” she said. “And to dinner beforehand.” Their romantic dinner would be far less romantic with a third person along, but excluding Sansa’s mother 一 even if Sansa’s mother had showed up uninvited a day early 一 would be a bad political move.

“Oh, no, girls,” Catelyn said with a smile. “It was a long train ride down from Winterfell. I’m past the age where I can go out all night drinking and dancing. We’ll have plenty of time to spend together. I’ll probably be asleep just after you walk out the door.”

There was something in Catelyn’s tone that didn’t quite match her words. Margaery could see that Sansa could hear it too. “Are you sure, Mom?” she asked.

“Of course I am. You know I want to spend time with you, but I also know you have other things going on in your life,” Catelyn said.  “Now let me put my bags away and freshen up for a minute.”

“Okay. If the toilet makes a funny groaning noise, don’t worry; the plumber says it’s normal,” Sansa said.

As Catelyn dropped her bags off in the guest room, Margaery sidled up to Sansa. “Let me guess,” she murmured. “All those texts that you’ve been ignoring from your mother?”

Sansa put her hands over her face. “She was telling me that she was coming down early. Oh Gods, Margaery. I’m a terrible daughter. Maybe I should just stay here tonight 一”

“No,” Margaery said firmly. “You heard what your mother said.”

“But did you hear the tone of her voice? She sounded so disappointed,” Sansa said.

Margaery lifted the plastic bag. “She also gave us two ugly Father sweaters for tonight’s event. Clearly she means for you to go.”

Margaery was worried she would have to go into whiny “You prooooomised!” mode, but Sansa grimaced. “You’re right, you’re right,” she said. “I made a commitment. I just hope my mom isn’t too lonely tonight.”

***

To Stannis’s credit, he did not linger at the office late when he heard his daughter was home. Davos could hear Stannis’s quick, light footsteps practically sprinting up the stairs to their unit. Davos met him at the door, where Stannis was already unwinding his scarf, a few snowflakes rapidly melting on his dark hair.

“She’s here?” Stannis said.

“She’s taking a nap,” Davos said. “She’s had a hard day.” He noticed some crumbs on Stannis’s sweater and wondered if someone at the office had brought in cookies. Davos made a mental note to take the larger-waistline pants out of storage; by the end of the week they’d need them.

“This is against my agreement with Selyse,” Stannis said tightly, keeping his voice quiet. “I have a paper to write. Our shared parenting plan says that 一”

Davos put his hands on Stannis’s shoulders. “We can talk about the agreement tonight. Right now, your daughter feels abandoned. Talking about this where she can hear won’t help. And tonight was when we’d planned to buy her Secret Stranger presents. Come on, let’s huddle around the computer; we can order something with next-day delivery,” Davos said.

Twenty minutes later, they were still arguing over what to get her.

“Shireen is mad about horses,” Davos said. “You know she’ll love horseback riding lessons.”

“There’s no guarantee Selyse will bring her to them,” Stannis said dourly. “A home chemistry set. She’ll be able to get ahead of class. The library recently hosted a lecture on getting girls more interested in STEM studies.” When Davos shot him a perplexed look, Stannis unpacked the acronym. “Science, technology, engineering, math. It would be an improving gift.”

“What child wants an _improving_ gift?” Davos said. He was about to say more, but then he heard the click of the bedroom door.

With speed learned from long practice, Davos snapped the laptop shut and hid it beneath the couch. He pulled a magazine off the sideboard and dropped it in Stannis’s lap.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Stannis said.

“Pretend you’re reading,” Davos said. “We don’t want to give anything away.”

Stannis rolled his eyes. “She knows that the Stranger doesn’t exist. Every time Selyse joins a new religion she debunks the last one. Perhaps we should just ask her 一”

“Ask me what?” said Shireen from the threshold, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“We wanted to know if there was anything you especially wanted for Secret Stranger week,” Davos asked reluctantly.

“I like the Secret Stranger, but I like other things too. Remember how pretty it was, the time when we went to the Old Gods Weirwood Tree lighting?”

Davos wasn’t with Stannis then, but he could see the appeal for a little girl. The twinkling lights and all the decorations were quite festive, lending the sometimes terrifying faces on the weirwood trunks an almost cartoonish air. He’d been to one in the North one time, carting in a supply of lovely but delicate geometric ornaments hand-made by a little old lady in Pentos. The Northerners certainly knew how to celebrate a holiday; Davos’s feet had been sore for days from dancing, his head had been sore from drinking and…well, a few other things had been sore too.

“There is a tree-lighting ceremony down at the old weirwood grove,” Davos said.

Stannis looked serious. “I have to work late in the evenings, but Davos can 一”

“No,” Shireen said firmly. “I want you to come too.” Her mouth suddenly took on a stubborn set.

“And to the R’hllor solstice bonfire, and to the 一”

“Shireen,” Stannis said. “We don’t belong to any of those religions. It would be inappropriate 一”

“I did a report on this for school. I checked. You don’t have to be part of their religion to go,” she said.

“And my teacher gave me a hundred on my report, so I know I’m right.”

Davos could hear Stannis’s teeth begin to grind. Before Stannis could open his mouth again, Davos said, “Shireen, do you have the report you wrote? Can you bring it to us?”

As she left, Davos murmured to Stannis, “Grinding your teeth is doing nothing for your TMJ. Remember what the dentist said.”

Stannis stopped, but he was if anything more tense. “I have work to do. It is quiet at the office. This is the only time that I can audit the catalogs,” Stannis said. “It’s pointless to visit all these religious ceremonies.”

“Your daughter wants to visit these ceremonies so she can spend time with you,” Davos said. “Selyse just deposited her here a day early. If her mother doesn’t want her, can you imagine how upset she must be to think you don’t want her either?”

“Perhaps you can 一” Stannis began.

“No,” Davos said. “I love Shireen as if she were my own. You know I do. But this is something you have to do with her. She wants her dad. I know the signs. I remember them from when I wasn’t there for my children. Learn from my mistakes.”

“You had boys,” Stannis said.

“It’s not like they’re a different species, Stannis, especially at this age.”

Shireen came out, clutching her paper to her chest. She’d put her glasses on and her face was serious. Davos imagined that Stannis must have looked something like this when he was a child. “The first one in my paper is the Old Gods,” Shireen said.

Davos picked up the copy of the _KL Weekly_ that was sitting on the end table and flipped to the center supplement. “It says here that the public Weirwood Tree lighting will be tomorrow night. There will be a chorus. Oh, and vendors selling hot cider. Sounds lovely,” Davos said.

Shireen’s jaw did exactly the same thing that Stannis’s jaw did when he was preparing to argue a point. Davos made a mental note to send her to an orthodontist for a bite guard. Maybe he could prevent the TMJ before it started. “That’s not the only thing they do. They go out into the woods and stay the night to bond with the spirits of the forest.”

“Stay the night. Well, there are some lovely lodges 一” Davos began.

“Not at a lodge. In a tent!” Shireen said. “There should be no walls between worshippers and the outdoors,” she read from her paper.

“But we’re not worshippers,” Stannis pointed out. “And what forest would allow us to put up a tent?”

“You know who would know?” Davos said. He pointed upwards, at the condo of their Northern neighbor the veterinarian.

Stannis sighed. “I’ll go ask,” he said. He stood up, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants legs.

Shireen grabbed one side of the paper, looking at the listings. “Look, Dad! There’s a Drowned God Ice Swim on Thursday!”

Davos saw Stannis’s shoulders twitch as he walked out the door.

***

“What did your Stranger get you for Father's Eve?” Jaime asked, watching Brienne through his binoculars. She was turning a particular shade of pink. What could be embarrassing her?

“I...well…uhm...a g-game,” she stammered into her phone.

He pitched his voice low. “What kind of game? Something that we can play together?” He hoped she'd take the hint and decide to come over.

She turned to look at his window, face bright red. He stepped back. “I...uhmm...you want me to bring it over? Tonight?”

“I'm game for whatever you want. Should I order some take out?” he asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.

“Yes...take out, and wine. I'll be up in a few.”

***

Perhaps it hadn’t been a great idea to have a romantic dinner on the same night as the Father’s Ugly Sweater Party, Margaery thought. She’d had to schedule it early enough that they’d still have time to set up the event. She and Sansa were surrounded by white-haired people enjoying the early bird special, all of whom were giving the girls the hairy eyeball 一 although Margaery wasn’t sure if it was because they were a couple or because of the exceptionally ugly holiday sweaters they were sporting.

Sansa’s phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, looked at it and then put it down with a sigh.

“Mom again?” Margaery asked.

“No,” Sansa sighed. “Just an email reminding TAs that grades are due before Stranger’s Eve.”

“Your mother hasn’t texted since we left the apartment. She’s probably resting,” Margaery said. “Why don’t you put the phone away and focus on this lovely dinner?” _This expensive dinner,_ she thought to herself. “Here, try a bite of this risotto. It’s so creamy there must be two days’ worth of calories in this dish.”

“Maybe we should have brought my mom,” Sansa said, ignoring the fork Margaery was holding out to her. “What if that weird noise the toilet makes bothers her?”

“Your mother wanted to stay home,” Margaery said. “And besides, would she like Rhoynish food? It’s very rich, and she’s so focused on healthy eating. Not to mention the wine. And I’m sure our toilet won’t bother her.”

Sansa sighed. “You’re right,” she said, tapping a finger on her phone.

Margaery glanced at another table, where the husband, a man that was eighty if he was a day, was alternately glaring at Sansa and, judging by his facial expression, making angry comments at his wife.

“Soon enough we’re going to wind up like that grumpy couple there,” she said, gesturing with her head to the now quarreling seniors. “Let’s enjoy what we have now.”

“But what if she needs something?” Sansa said anxiously.

“There’s a Whole Foods two blocks away and a twenty four hour drugstore on the corner. You left her phone numbers for the Boltons and for Stannis and Davos in case anything comes up. And she knows Brienne anyway since Brienne used to work for her.” She squeezed Sansa’s hand. “Your mom will be fine. Let’s just enjoy dinner.”

Sansa sighed and turned her phone face down. As Margaery dug her fork into her risotto, the arguing couple got up from their table and walked toward the exit. “I’m telling you,” Margaery heard the man say, “that’s _my_ favorite sweater! You told me it got ruined in the laundry and instead you gave it to the Sparrow’s Army Thrift Store!”

Margaery laughed to herself as she looked at Sansa. “Have I told you how lovely you look in your ugly sweater?”

Sansa smiled back at her, finally focused on the dinner rather than her mom. She took a bite of her wine-braised chicken. “Oh, this is amazing,” she said. “It just melts in your mouth.” Then her phone buzzed again. Sansa’s hand twitched. She took a deep breath and left her phone on the table. “It’s probably school,” she said.

Margaery nodded. “There you go,” she said. She had an image of Catelyn sitting lonely and sad at their house listening to the randomly groaning toilet. She immediately tried to squash it. Catelyn understood that she and Sansa had other commitments. But she couldn’t shake a lingering sense of guilt that they’d left the lonely mother on her own, and her risotto turned flavorless in her mouth.

***

Catelyn poured herself a glass of the Rhoynish she’d been saving for just this occasion and flipped through the takeout menus in her daughter’s kitchen. It had taken the girls forever to leave. She’d had a brief moment of panic when it had seemed that Sansa wanted to cancel her evening plans and stay in. She’d known that Sansa and Margaery had a busy night 一 in fact, she’d been counting on it, so she could have a night alone.

With three children still at home and Robb visiting every weekend, Catelyn rarely had a moment’s peace. True, right now they were all off on their Old Gods bonding-with-the-forest winter camping ritual, but that still left her sitting in a house with a dishwasher on its last legs, bathroom grout that desperately needed a thorough de-mildewing, an endless mountain of laundry, a fridge that needed to be cleaned and sterilized, a toilet flapper that needed replaced and a beat-up couch that had as much fur on it as any of the children’s dogs. True, the toilet here might make funny noises, but it wasn’t her toilet and therefore wasn’t her responsibility. She’d thought of checking in to a hotel for the evening, but hotels didn’t have Netflix or Hulu.

She looked at the Qarthian food menu. It was probably loaded with MSG, salt, fat and all the other things she always avoided in order to set a good dietary example for her children.

“Yes,” she said as soon as they picked up. “I’d like the Tourmaline Brotherhood Chicken, extra spicy. And the finger rolls. And fried rice.” If she was going to do it, why not go all the way? “And those crispy fried rangoon, too.”

After she got off the phone, she topped off her wine glass, settled down on the couch, and picked up the remote. “Let’s see what Taena Merryweather’s been up to this season,” she mumbled to herself, smiling as she hit play on an episode of _The Good Wife_.

***

“Half your building decided to order Qarthian food tonight,” the delivery man said as he handed over the bag to Jaime.

“Next time you’re delivering start at our unit and work your way down,” Jaime said as he added a hefty tip and signed the receipt. He hobbled back to the dining room table and slid Brienne’s mysterious gift bag over to the side to make room. “You sure you don’t want to open it now?” he asked.

Brienne finished her glass of wine. “I don’t want dinner to get cold,” she said. Something was clearly up with the package 一 she’d finished her glass of wine before dinner. She never drank that much.

What was in the package? Was it upsetting? “Look, if it bothers you 一”

“No!” she said, blushing. “No. I-I’m game. But dinner first.” Her smile seemed uneasy, but bright. As she opened the boxes and dealt herself some rice, she said. “I don't think Gilly is getting any Secret Stranger gifts.”

Jaime liked Gilly. She was kind, discreet and kept his place spotless. She'd been a gods-send when his hand had been in a cast and he’d kept her on 一 in part because of his leg injury, but also because he liked her. “Who do you think her Secret Stranger is?”

“Well, I can guess,” he said, answering his own question. He looked down at the floor. “I haven’t heard anyone downstairs in ages.”

“I think she’s lonely and a little homesick. Maybe we should get her gifts?” Brienne suggested, her eyes shifting nervously to the gift bag on the floor.

“Sure, we’ll be her Secret Strangers. We can do it together.” Jaime grinned at her. “How about some music?” She was clearly nervous about something.

Brienne nodded and sipped her wine as he fiddled with the stereo remote. _What was that romantic station the Bears listened to?_ He found a station playing soft jazz. “There. Mood music.”

Brienne blushed furiously and looked at the gift bag again before taking a large forkful of rice.

They finished their take-out in near silence, Brienne seemingly more tense with each bite. She’d disposed of the remains of their dinner and sat back down on the couch beside him, not nearly close enough. She was twisting her hands in her lap. He turned to her and placed his hand on her knee, inching a little closer. She took a deep breath.

“Do you want to play the game now?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, then skittering away.

Jaime tried not to let his disappointment show. He wanted to drag her off to the bedroom, or pounce on her on the couch, but his knee was in no shape for either. He nodded. “Sure, whatever you'd like to do, Wench.”

“My name is Brienne,” she said as she pulled the box from the bag.

When he saw the game, he stopped feeling disappointed.

***

Walda tried to wipe the butter stain off her brand new cookbook, but it was too late. She sighed. “A stained cookbook is a well-used cookbook,” she reminded herself aloud.

Roose looked over from where he was reading the paper. “Did you need something, dear?” he asked.

“Oh, no, just talking to myself. You know how I get when I’m baking something new,” she said. She ran her hand lovingly over the open page of _Happiness with Hot Pie._ “I can’t believe I’m one of the first people who gets to cook from this cookbook,” she said.

“Mmmm,” Roose said. “I thought that cookbook wasn’t being released until next week.”

“It’s not. This is something called a ‘galley copy.’ I wonder if that’s because it’s the kind of copy that would be used in a ship’s galley?” She poured the last ingredients into her mixing bowl and picked up her hand-held mixer with a quiet sigh. She’d been hinting to Roose for ages that she wanted a Kitchen Aid classic mixer 一 one of the mixers that weighed almost as much as she did and could make pasta or grind meat with the right attachments. But so far, nothing seemed to have worked, not even slipping a copy of the Wylla-Sonoma catalog with asterisks around the mixer into his paper.

Just as she got started, someone knocked at the door. She was surprised when Roose let their downstairs neighbor, Stannis, in. Stannis looked serious, and also anxious. He always looked serious, but the anxious was something new. She overheard something about his daughter and camping out with the Old Gods, but lost most of it in the noise of her mixer. _Old Gods,_ she thought to herself, looking over at the book _Old Gods Dainty Decorating_ that Roose had received from his Secret Stranger. Secret, ha! She knew exactly which red haired decorating disaster had gifted it. _Dainty decorating._ She narrowed her eyes and dropped a pat of butter on that book, making sure to smear it thoroughly as she wiped it off. By the time she was done, the oven was beeping, and as she pulled the cookies out she could hear the end of the conversation.

“I have always considered a four-season tent money well spent,” Roose said. “It is the most authentic experience, especially when one hikes to a remote area. But there are heated tent cabins in the Kingswood, not far from Fawnton, by the shores of the Wendwater. They cater to those too sick or old to go far into the woods. I’m sure it will be ideal for you.”

“Do you go with him?” Stannis asked Walda.

“Don’t be silly!” Walda smiled as she put the last of the cookies on a cooling rack. “Not when it’s below freezing. But I make meals for him to take.”

“Yes. The meals require a higher-capacity backpack, but the extra weight builds endurance,” Roose said.

“And the dinners are a big reward for your workout,” Walda said. Walda saw Stannis looking at the cookies. “Oh, you should try one. The ones on the other end should be cool enough to eat now,” she said.

“I shouldn’t,” Stannis said, even as his hand reached for the cookie.

“I saw that cake sitting on your doorstep this morning. It sure was pretty! Baked in the shape of a book 一 perfect for Father’s Eve. Was it tasty? What did Davos think of it?” Walda asked. If he didn’t know she was his Secret Stranger, it didn’t qualify as _fishing for complements_ , did it?

”It was aesthetically pleasing. Davos remarked that it was quite moist,” he said, never taking his eyes off her baked goods.

“Well, you’ll just have to bring him cookies. And that daughter of yours is here too, now, right?” Stannis protested, but she rolled right over him. He looked tense 一 he obviously needed something sweet in his life. “Let me box these up for you.”  She counted as she went. “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirtiy-nine cookies. And don’t you worry, I have another batch where that came from!” she said brightly, placing the box in his hands. “Y’all enjoy these, now, all right?”

Five minutes after he walked out the door, Walda had popped her next creation in the oven and walked over to give Roose a peck on the cheek. She tilted her head. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Roose asked.

“From the hall,” Walda said. “I could swear that for a minute I heard the sound of someone chewing.”

***

Catelyn’s stomach was full of deep-fried spicy Qarthian chicken bits, she was all caught up on her show, and she still had a half bottle of wine left. _Alone, alone, a blessed night alone!_ She thought about her husband, her boys, Arya. She knew she should be thinking of them wistfully, but she was just glad to have a couple of days hundreds of miles away from them.

When was the last time she had more than twenty minutes alone? You’d think she would get peace and quiet while putting her clothes on, but Arya had raced into Catelyn’s bedroom, panicking about a school project due that morning. Catelyn’s vain attempt to start a meditation practice had flown out the window the day Bran fell off the roof of their house; now any time she aimed for mindfulness she was reminded of the sickening thud he’d made as he hit the ground. She thanked the gods he had only broken a leg. And then there was little Rickon, bursting into the kitchen as she worked on dinner to tell her that he’d become a vegetarian and wouldn’t eat anything cooked near meat. Just this morning Ned had wanted to have a conversation with her while she was in the bathroom. Even her time on the toilet was no longer a moment of solitude, and a conversation on the toilet put a damper on the last remaining flames of romance they’d managed to sustain through child-rearing. She poured herself another glass of wine, leafed through an issue of InStyle and watched _The Real Wives of Gulltown._

Surely the girls wouldn’t be home before one. When she and Ned had been their age they’d been out until four in the morning on a regular basis. Of course, that was part of the reason they wound up married with Robb on the way when she was twenty-four.

Maybe the girls had a movie she hadn’t seen yet. She started browsing their shelves, but rather than looking at the TV shows, she noticed the video games. It was Father’s Eve, and traditional to play games, but there were hardly any video games Catelyn found appealing. And then she spotted it.

“Let’s Dance Totally 80s?” Catelyn read aloud. “You’re about to lose your high scores, girls. This is _my_ decade.” She grabbed it off the shelf and slid the disc into their Wii.

***

Margaery’s brother Loras brought her a piece of paper. Even in the ugly sweater, he looked handsome. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she could see his big grin and the dollar amount he was pointing at. It was well above their target. She gave him a high five. The DJ handed her a microphone.

“Thanks to all of you fearless ugly Father sweater-wearers, tonight we’ve raised over ten percent of the budget needed in order to expand the Rose Garden Shelter!”

The crowd cheered.

“If you’re feeling any guilt because you’re overindulging, remember that one dollar from each and every drink you buy tonight will also be given to the shelter. And because we want you to get home safe, we’ve also got a twenty percent discount for your taxi home. See the doorman for a coupon for your driver. The ugliest sweater will be announced in just 15 minutes, at midnight.”

She caught Sansa’s eye as the crowd let out another cheer. Normally Sansa could be counted on to dance, but tonight she was sitting at a table in the corner, staring at her phone miserably.

She made her way over and gave Sansa’s hand a squeeze. “Trying to escape the party?” she shouted over the music.

She could see Sansa sigh. “I’d been ignoring my mom’s texts, and all she wanted to do was to spend time with me. She doesn’t have anyone up there to go shopping with, or 一”

“She has Arya,” Margaery pointed out.

Sansa shook her head. “You know Arya. She’s not exactly girly. My mom just wants to buy me pretty things. I’m a terrible daughter.”

“You’re not terrible. You’re just busy,” Margaery said.

“No. I haven’t been connecting lately, to anyone. When you try to talk to me I’m knitting. When Mom tries to text me I ignore her. And now my mom is here and I’m out at a party, and I’m not even connecting here because I’m checking my phone to see if my mom texted.”

 _Damn it_ , Marg thought. She had been looking forward to having fun at the party 一 and having more fun when they got home. “Your mother is probably already asleep,” she said.

Sansa shook her head. “Whenever I’m home she waits up to make sure I get in okay,” she said.

“Okay. I’ll ask Loras if he and Renly can wrap the party up, and then you and I can go home as soon as we announce the contest winners. Okay?”

Sansa nodded, with what seemed like the first real smile she’d had all night.

***

Roose glared at the cookbook sitting on the kitchen table. He'd planned to buy her that very same book for Stranger's Eve, but it was not yet on sale. And this one was autographed. _Autographed._ Who had the audacity to get such a book for her?

***

As Brienne set up the pieces and stacked the cards, Jaime looked at the front page of the rulebook for _Ticket to Pleasure: The Game for Getting to Know Your Lover._ He grinned. “Oh, you are a naughty wench. This looks fun.”

“Shut up,” was all she said, snatching the rule book from his hand.

She reviewed the rules and then handed them back to him. “We roll the dice and move. Red spaces we draw action cards, blue spaces are questions and green spaces the other player gets to choose. Although I’m sure you already knew that.”

He looked at the instruction sheet. “Did you write these?”

She shook her head. “No, I've never written game instructions.” She took a deep breath. “I'll go first.” She rolled a two, landing on a red space. She drew her card and read it. “Kiss your partner in the non-traditional place you most like to be kissed.” She bit her lip.

He raised his eyebrow at her, spreading his arms wide. “Go ahead. Wherever you want.”

She leaned over and kissed his neck. Jaime didn't think he would make it past two rolls of the dice before he threw her down on the couch. She scooted away. “Your turn.”

He rolled and landed on green. “You get to choose, action card or question.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Question? Action? I don’t know.” She poured the last of the wine into her glass. “Action.”

He drew his card and read it aloud. “Place your hand on your partner's thigh for the next two rolls. If you remove your hand before two rolls are completed, go back two spaces.” He waggled his fingers at her and placed his hand on her thigh.

He could see her blush again. She bit her lip but this time it wasn’t anxious; there was a sexy promise to it. He wasn't going to make it one more roll. Hell if it weren't for his damned leg, he'd be on top of her already. “Your turn,” he announced as he let his fingers slip in and up on her leg, thinking about ripping her jeans off, feeling her muscles flexing under his hand.

She rolled and landed on blue. She drew a card and read it aloud. “Do you prefer giving or receiving?” She looked down. “I-I enjoy both I guess.” A flush rose up her neck.

He desperately wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her skin. He drew circles on her thigh with his fingers. He rolled the dice and landed on red.  He read his card aloud, “Show your partner, with clothes on, your favorite sex position.”

He hoped his knee was up for this. “I bet there’s no one else in this complex having as much fun playing a game as we are.”

***

Catelyn had expected the game to be complicated 一 she had played _Dance Dance Revolution_ with Sansa when Sansa was small 一 but games had progressed a lot in the past few years. All she had to do was copy the dance moves of the dancer on screen while holding the Wiimote. She’d mastered the easy songs and learned the thirty-nine steps that made up the various dance combinations; now it was time for something a bit harder. And there it was 一 her all time favorite song, the song that she always danced with Ned to when they first started dating. She couldn’t help but sing along as it started. “ _I know what boys like / I know what guys want._ ” By the end of the first verse, she was adding her own extra flourishes to the dance moves and singing at the top of her lungs.

“ _I got my cat moves / that so upset them”_ When they were young, by this point in the song Ned couldn’t keep his hands off her. She threw in a little extra shimmy; the game gave her bonus points. _“Zippers and buttons / fun to frustrate them_ 一”

And that’s when she heard the door.

She spun around. Sansa and Margaery stood in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at her.

Catelyn was the mother of five. She handled life with grace, from crusty socks underneath her sons’ beds to her daughter coming out as a lesbian. She managed it all. And yet at that very moment, all she wanted was to duck into the bathroom with it's groaning toilet and hide. “Girls! I 一 wasn’t expecting you home so early,” she stammered.

Margaery giggled. “Clearly.”

Behind Catelyn, the video game said something about a new high score.

“Oh, no,” said Sansa, dropping her purse on the table and stripping off her coat. “I refuse to let my own mother beat me at this game.” She climbed over the couch, grabbed the other Wiimote and quickly set the game to two-player.

As they started dancing, Catelyn heard Margaery in the kitchen. “Oooo, a Rhoynish!” she said. Catelyn heard the last of her treasured wine splash into a glass not her own.

Sansa reached out and squeezed Catelyn’s hand. “Aren’t games so much more fun when you have someone to play with?”

***

“Aaaah!” Jaime groaned, clutching at his knee.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Brienne said. He’d pressed her back onto the couch and settled himself between her thighs, then asked her to wrap her legs around him.  He’d put one of her hands on the back of his neck and the other in his hair.  He’d kissed her, pressing her more firmly into the couch. For a moment it had felt so right and then it all went horribly wrong.  He’d slid lower and pivoted, causing his knee to slide between the couch cushions with painful results.

“That’s what I get for trying to be on top,” Jaime reassured her, but the mood seemed well and truly gone. He lay flat on his back on the floor in front of the couch. Brienne got a bag of peas from the freezer and then moved down on the floor to join him, sitting on her knees between his legs. She lifted his sore leg to rest on her shoulder and put the frozen peas on his knee.

“Maybe we should save this game for when you’ve healed up,” Brienne said, as she massaged his calf. He gasped and she looked up, afraid she’d hurt him again. He was staring at her with dark eyes and biting his lip.

“Maybe instead, you could finish what I’d started?” he asked, waving his hand towards her chest. “If I can’t feel your legs around me, at least let me look at you.” His groan was different this time, “Gods, please, Brienne.”

She looked down to notice that her shirt was mostly unbuttoned and somehow his less-than-nimble fingers had managed to unhook her bra. As a result, half of her was exposed. She met Jaime's eyes, then let her gaze travel down his chest to his partially untucked shirt, revealing an inch of golden skin around his waist. Her eyes traveled a bit further down. Apparently he really _did_ like looking at her.

***

Sam almost couldn’t contain his excitement. Another envelope. Another note.

_Dear Crow,_

_It’s Crone’s Eve and no socks for me. Two pair for my roommate though. I shouldn’t be jealous; she really deserves it. I’m not sure she’s known a lot of kindness from men in her life. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I bet you’re kind though, Crow. Trudging through the snow to deliver letters when people could just send email instead. I hope you’re wearing warm socks. I’d knit you some if I were there, though I’m not that good at knitting. Or making things. You wouldn’t that mind though, would you?_

_Thinking of you,_

_Gilly_

She was right.  He wouldn’t mind at all.  Sam wondered if her Secret Stranger had brought her a book or a game to play tonight. Jon had given him a game, _Settlers of Qutan_ , that they’d played with Pyp and Grenn before their shifts. Jon may have followed the Old Gods, but at least he was trying, and that was a nice thing, especially since Sam was too much of a scaredy cat to return the favor.  He certainly had no plans to camp put in a tent to celebrate the Old Gods like most of the Crows. You never knew what could get inside your tent. There were creepy bugs that could hide in your boot, or snakes that might slither into your warm sleeping bag. Besides, what if there was a hungry bear that had forgotten how to hibernate and was looking for dinner? He grimaced at the thought.

Best to reflect on Gilly instead, he thought, breathing in the cold piney air as he trudged up the drive. He knew she must have brown hair and eyes like all of her sisters. But was she plump like some of them or skinny like the others? Was she short or tall? There were a million different Gillys he could imagine, but they all had the same soft eyes. He held onto thoughts of her as he stared at the ice man figure guarding the gateway to Craster’s trailer park and tried not to flinch in fear as it mocked him with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice/works) who has convinced us all that modern Walda loves to bake.


	4. Mother's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Mother's Eve, time for women to bond and celebrate...with alcohol and strippers. Does someone get a lap dance? Does Gilly finally get a gift from her Secret Stranger? How many gifts will Brienne get? And what exactly is wrong with Sansa and Margaery's toilet?

Stannis looked out the window. It was still night outside, yet he was awake and he could hear Shireen getting ready in the next room. He straightened his tie and tugged his sweater-vest down again. “You need to take more care with the laundry, Davos. My sweater has shrunk,” he said.

Davos, bleary-eyed and still in his robe, gave Stannis a thin smile and patted his shoulder. “Of course, love. Now, Shireen’s backpack is by the door. Here is the note for the day of school she missed yesterday.”

Stannis reviewed the note. “I cannot sign this. Shireen did not have stomach flu.”

“The school won’t excuse her for having an irresponsible mother who dumped her on our doorstep,” Davos said, handing him a pen. “You’re welcome to write the real reason, but if you do you’ll have to plan to spend a couple of hours at the principal’s office explaining.”

Stannis gritted his teeth and signed the note, which Davos tucked in Shireen’s bag.

“Now, the Mother Rhoyne celebration should end in plenty of time for you to get Shireen to school and still get to work on time.” Davos lowered his voice. “I’ll find Shireen some presents while you’re gone.”

Shireen came out of the door to her room, impossibly bright-eyed for so early in the morning. “Daddy, can you put my hair in a ponytail?”

Stannis looked at Davos. Davos held up his hand, waggling his half-fingers.

It took three tries, but finally Stannis put her hair in an acceptable ponytail, fuming inwardly the whole time at Selyse for disrupting his carefully planned schedule. Then Shireen looked up at him, smiling, eyes shining, and put her small hand in his. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said.

Davos gave Shireen a hug and Stannis a kiss on the cheek. “Your taxi’s outside,” he said.

 _A taxi!_ The expense galled Stannis. Why these minor religions insisted on holding their celebrations in hard-to-find places or at times when the subway wasn’t even running, Stannis didn’t understand. It was rude and inconvenient.

Shireen tugged his hand and like that they were out the door and down the stairs. It was too early for even his Stranger to have left a gift.

“Did you know that Mother Rhoyne’s followers stay awake all night, dancing and singing and waiting for the sun to return?” Shireen asked.

“Mmmm,” Stannis said.

“Someday we should stay up all night with them,” she said.

“If they want us to stay up all night with them, they will have to have their celebration when it’s not a school night,” he said.

***

Jaime hit ‘Send’ on his email and closed the laptop before quietly placing it on the floor. The gift wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon, but it would be worth the wait. His bigger problem was Brienne. She lay on her back in bed beside him snoring softly, her leg pressed against his. He rolled over on his side to watch her, one hand propping up his head and the other resting on her bare stomach.

She was adventurous in bed, more so than he would have expected. Not for the first time that night, he silently damned his knee. It was putting more than a little damper on their sex life. The game they’d played had left him wondering. Why did she bring such a sexy game? It was the sort of thing people brought home on their seven-year anniversary to re-ignite the spark that had been lost. Maybe he wasn’t enough for her? Did she find him boring? Maybe he should get her something to show he could be adventurous too.

He traced circles around her belly button with one finger. She shifted and opened her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her.

*** 

Sansa arrived early to the knitting group, but when she got there Tysha was already working. She held up the tiny half-finished sweater in her hands. “First one.”

Sansa couldn’t help but clap her hands together in excitement, then stilled herself. “I shouldn’t do that. I feel terrible about the oil spill at Ib Nor. All those poor little penguins coated with oil.”

“All those poor little penguins that need sweaters to keep them from licking the oil off themselves,” Tysha said, with a tiny smile.

“I know!” Sansa said, unable to resist bouncing up and down. “Little penguins in tiny sweaters! Sweaters knitted by us! We’re doing a good thing.”

“An _adorable_ good thing,” Tysha said, her smile getting wider.

“I’m going to send our first batch tomorrow morning by next-day air, and they said they’ll have photos of them by Stranger’s Eve.” She sat down and pulled out her knitting. “Thinking of all those little sweaters is the only thing that got me through reading a hundred terrible papers on the folklore of Winter’s Seven. How’s your grading going?”

Tysha groaned. Sansa laughed as she looped yarn around her needle. “Well, do you at least have a fun Mother’s Eve planned to make up for it?”

Tysha sighed and shook her head. “It’s too long a drive to go home for it, and the ones on campus —”

“The one with the facials and the manicures sounds nice,” Sansa said.

“Yes, but they want people to pay a hundred dragons at the door,” Tysha said, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh!” Sansa said. “That’s just, like, a spa night.”

“I know. Where I grew up the whole point of Mother’s Eve was to do things for each other, not to hire a bunch of professionals to come in and do it for you. What about you?”

Sansa reached into her bag for a second shade of yarn. “There weren’t a lot of followers of the New Gods in the North. Usually the boys were all out camping by now and after working on some project, Mom and I would paint each other’s nails and watch _When Florian Met Jonquil_ while Arya complained about the nail polish fumes.”

Tysha’s knitting needles click-clacked as she spoke. “And the other option on campus is an event about women in history, which while I appreciate it, it’s…”

“A little too close to your academic studies to be fun?” Sansa asked.

Tysha nodded.

“Why don’t you come over to our place tonight?” Sansa asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”

“Margaery’s grandmother is coming, and she’s — well, she cares about Margaery a lot, but she’s…”

“You need a human buffer zone,” Tysha said.

Sansa laughed. “Exactly. I’ve already invited our neighbor Walda.”

“The Marya Stewart one?” Tysha asked.

“Exactly,” Sansa said. “That tells you how desperate I am. Oh, and Brienne is coming too, and she’s dating Dr. Lannister’s brother. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about with her,” Sansa said with a grin. “He is the one that asked you out to dinner, isn’t he?”

Tysha blushed. “It’s not a date. He asked me so I can be a human buffer zone between him and his father,” she said.

“Do you get asked to do that a lot?” Sansa asked.

“We all have our skills,” Tysha said, needles click-clacking. “I’m assuming that with Margaery’s grandmother there it won’t be one of those naughty Mother’s Eve parties?”

“If only,” Sansa groaned.

***

The moment the elevator doors had closed Jaime had pressed himself into her, letting his crutch clatter to the floor, and began kissing her neck. He was almost hard against her leg. _Again._ It hadn’t even been an hour since they’d left his bed. He’d wanted to play the sex game this morning, but she had a video conference with a company in Pyke. Jaime had suggested she could do it from his place, but she had no faith that he wouldn’t distract her. He was kissing her neck even now, his mouth hot on her skin. Of their own accord, her hands moved to twine in his hair. Every single thing about him was a distraction. He was constantly touching her, kissing her and she just couldn’t think… The elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors open with a loud ping. Brienne heard the distinct clearing of a throat and turned to see her mentor standing just outside the open doors.

“Cat,” Brienne greeted the older woman with as much calm as she could manage while simultaneously moving to pick Jaime’s crutch up off the elevator floor. “I thought you weren’t getting in until this evening.”

“Yes, well, the agency shut down early for the winter holidays,” Catelyn said, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at Jaime.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, “this is Catelyn Stark, Sansa’s mother. I interned for her when I was at Pycelle and Gamble. Catelyn, this is Jaime Lannister, my, um…”

“Her boyfriend,” Jaime said, extending his hand to Catelyn. The knot in Brienne’s stomach eased a little. After her last bad breakup, she always hesitated to put a name to things, but Jaime did not share that uneasiness. “So you’re the one who first saw Brienne’s genius.”

“Yes. I tried to lure her away to be my copywriter at the agency when I left P&G, but she was in her new job by then, and she’s very loyal.”

Jaime took Brienne’s hand and squeezed it. “Past the point of sense,” he said.

Brienne could feel herself starting to blush.

“And if she ever needed another job, I know Casterly Rock Enterprises would hire her in a minute,” Jaime added.

“You’re one of the Casterly Rock Lannisters? Not the Lannisport Lannisters?” Catelyn asked.

“We call the Lannisport Lannisters the lesser Lannisters. Tywin Lannister is my father,” he said, grinning. “But don’t hold that against me.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Brienne has _talent_ ,” Catelyn said. “She doesn’t need nepotism. If she were ever willing to move to Winterfell she’d have a job waiting for her.”

Jaime slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “But why would she go back to the minor leagues now that she’s in King’s Landing?” he asked.

Brienne covered his hand with hers, desperately trying to find a way to rescue the conversation. “I’m very happy here,” she said.

“And I’m very happy to have her here,” Jaime said. “I couldn’t let her go.” He gripped her waist more firmly as if to emphasize the point.

“Well, tonight you’ll have to,” Catelyn said with a forced smile. “It’s Mother’s Eve, and Sansa told me that Brienne would be joining us for our party.”

Brienne tensed up. Jaime gave her a concerned look. “But we were supposed to —” he said.

“Brienne can make her own decisions,” Cat said flatly, her smile gone.

Brienne tapped Jaime’s foot with hers. “Yes. I’d forgotten Mother’s Eve was tonight.” Or her mind had deliberately blocked it out. She squared her shoulders and forced a smile at Jaime. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to postpone our plans.” She turned back to Catelyn. “Should I bring anything?”

“Maybe that seven-layer dip Margaery raves about?” Catelyn said. “In fact, I’m off to the grocery now. They seem to be out of fruit and vegetables. Margaery said she used them all.” Catelyn furrowed her brow.

“Dip, yes,” Brienne nodded absently, distracted by Jaime’s thumb rubbing tiny circles on her waist. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

As soon as Catelyn walked out the door, Jaime turned to her, “I was trying to give you an out. Wench, you clearly don’t want to go. Just tell her that you’re busy nursing me.”

Brienne shook her head, taking her keys out of her pocket and opening her mailbox. “No. I should go. I need to at least put in an appearance. I like everyone there. I just — I don’t fit in at Mother’s Eve parties.”

“Facials and hairstyling and pedicures aren’t your cup of tea?” he said.

Brienne sighed. “Don’t forget the strippers,” she said, grimacing at the memory.

“The what?” Jaime asked sharply.

Brienne saw a package in her mailbox. When she saw who it was from, she frowned and bit her lower lip. Quickly, she grabbed her mail, including the box. “I have to get to my video conference. I’ll stop by after the party, all right?”

As she moved to leave, Jaime grabbed her wrist. “Not without one more kiss.”

Before she knew it, Brienne’s back was against the mailboxes, her mail crushed against her chest and the box landing with a thud on the floor. “You’ll make me late,” she said.

“I’m also going to make you forget about those strippers,” Jaime said as his lips latched onto hers and his hand ran down her thigh, hooking behind her knee and pulling up, trying to lift her.

“Jaime,” she gasped, “You can’t. I’m too heavy.”

“I’m strong enough,” he whispered in her ear as he nibbled at her earlobe. “We could at least try it.”

She shivered at the thought, but pulled her hands from his hair and shook her head, “No, not until your knee is healed.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, “We’ll find a way to work it out. I promise.”

***

“Tywin, I have plans with my granddaughter for tonight.”

“Grandchildren,” Tywin snorted.

Olenna ran her hand down his arm. “I know you want grandchildren. I wouldn’t mind a few great-grandchildren myself.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, “Do you really think you’re great-grandmother material?”

“Of course I am,” she smiled as she settled on the sofa beside him. “I’ll make a wonderful great-grandmother. I’ve been a wonderful grandmother. My mothering, not exactly exemplary. The real problem is my grandchildren,” she sighed, thinking of Garlan and his wife. Leonette was having difficulty conceiving and Garlan was being gallant. Willas showed no signs of wanting to marry and Loras and Margaery were both very happy in same-sex relationships. She reached for her coffee. “I’ve tried to talk to Garlan about in vitro fertilization, but Leonette wants to conceive naturally.”

“At least you have potential,” Tywin countered. “None of my children are even married. Jaime hasn’t dated in years and Tyrion busies himself with wholly unsuitable women.”

“What about Cersei?” Olenna asked.

Tywin stirred his coffee twice, tapped the spoon on the rim three times and placed the spoon on the saucer before picking up his cup. Olenna knew that ritual. He did that when he was truly troubled. She waited for him to speak.

“I have concerns about Cersei,” he began. “And I have come to the conclusion that she might not be fit to carry or parent a child.”

She placed her hand on his knee. “The drinking?”

He nodded and took a sip of coffee. “The drinking. I intend to speak to her about it tomorrow at dinner.”

Olenna cleared her throat. “Perhaps Warrior’s Eve dinner isn’t the proper time for that, Tywin. Tyrion sent me a text. Both he and Jaime are bringing guests to dinner.”

“Indeed,” Tywin raised a brow.

“Not like that, dear. Tyrion is bringing his assistant from the college and Jaime is bringing a woman from his condominium complex. Neither have families in the area.”

“Did you get their names?” Tywin asked.

She patted his knee. “It’s too early to run background checks.”

***

Davos had managed to buy a few gifts for Shireen, but it certainly wasn’t enough to see the week through. He needed Stannis’s help. But they couldn’t leave Shireen alone.

And then he remembered — tonight was Mother’s Eve.

He kept an eye on the courtyard as he worked. Brienne had gone out earlier. She’d be returning soon. When he spied a tall blonde walking across the snow-covered green, he rushed out to meet her.

“Brienne, just the person I wanted to see,” Davos said as he burst out the door.

Brienne was carrying an overstuffed Whole Foods bag that she shifted into her other hand. “Davos,” she said, smiling. “Are you and Stannis having a good Winter’s Seven? Has your Stranger been good to you?”

Davos smiled, thinking of the thirty-nine varieties of easy-peel and stick mail labels and tape gun he’d received this morning. “The Stranger’s brought us surprises.” He paused, thinking of Shireen, “More than we were expecting. And you?”

She turned bright red. “Every day has been a surprise,” she said. “But — good.”

Davos wondered if any of those surprises were related to the hickey that was peeking out from under her scarf. “One of the surprises that the Stranger brought us was Shireen. Her mother dropped her off several days early.”

“Do you need me to babysit tonight?” Brienne asked, seeming far more excited than the prospect warranted.

“Well, not exactly. Tonight is Mother’s Eve, and Shireen usually spends it with Seylse,” he shrugged. “I heard you talking to Sansa about the get-together she’s hosting for the women in the complex. Would it be possible for Shireen to attend for the early part of the evening instead? She had a very early morning so she won’t be up too late.” He had a thought. “Or is their party not the sort of event a young girl should go to?”

“I’ll check with Sansa, but I’m sure it will be fine. I promise that Shireen won’t be exposed to anything risqué while she’s there,” Brienne said, sounding relieved.

“I don’t want to be the cause of spoiling anyone’s fun —”

“No!” Brienne said. “I know they’ll all be happy to see Shireen. I’ll come get her at six-thirty.”

***

Brienne could see the gifts waiting in front of her door from down the hall. One of them appeared to be a large food basket tied with a hot pink ribbon, the other a box in the distinctive red and pink stripes of Doreah’s Secret.

She blushed just looking at that second gift, obviously from Jaime. She had thought the physical side of their relationship was going well. Brienne wasn’t a prude; she’d been exposed to enough. But after her many failed dating relationships, especially the one with the guy Jaime would only refer to as “the asshole,” she had some very specific hang-ups when it came to her own attractiveness, or lack thereof.

Jaime liked looking at her. They’d had more than one disagreement about the lights. He wanted them on; she preferred them off. He never let her get a chance to win the argument. She still couldn’t believe that he liked looking at her body, but last night just the sight of her half-covered chest was enough to make him forget the pain in his knee. She blushed at the memory.

She’d tried to be more adventurous, more comfortable, but clearly, from all the gifts he’d given her, she wasn’t living up to his expectations. She’d just have to try harder, be more open.

She sighed, picked up the bag and basket and opened the door. Gilly was in the dining room, stacking up her papers and books. “How was class this morning?” Brienne asked.

“’Twas fine. Dr. Lannister is a fine teacher. Likes to hear himself talk though. I’m about to go pick up for Jaime,” Gilly said.

“You’re coming to Mother’s Eve at Sansa and Margaery’s tonight, right?” Brienne asked. Shireen would make a good human shield, but Brienne wanted someone else to hide behind. She normally liked those women, but Mother’s Eve…

“Yep. I’m tryin’ to learn all about the Seven,” Gilly said. “I read in my books that Mother’s Eve is when women get together. It said that in the olden days that was when older women would impart wisdom to maidens.” Gilly’s voice had that stilted tone that it got when she was quoting from a book. “I figure that means they talk about sex a lot?”

Brienne put her things down on the dining room table and busied herself unpacking the ingredients for her dip. “It used to be a chance for mothers to tell daughters about the facts of life before they got married. Now — well, I can only speak for my family. I don’t know other traditions. Women use the time to do feminine things. Makeup.” Brienne felt sick as she remembered the years of being the makeover demonstration model. She tried to bury the memory and kept talking. “Some women go out for a spa night. Some hire strippers.”

“The school has one that’s supposed to be a ‘safe space for women to discuss the challenges of being female in a male-dominated world,’” Gilly said.

“Yes. Some women do that. Some women talk about how to use femininity to your advantage,” Brienne said, trying to tamp down yet another bad memory. “I really don’t know what this will be like,” she said again, feeling her shoulders pull in as if she could somehow make her gigantic body smaller and more feminine.

“Well, so far it sounds like a regular Saturday night with my sisters. Nothing wrong with women talking,” Gilly said. She reached down to the floor and picked up a leather bag, placing it on the table, a bag that Brienne had only previously seen online when she and Jaime had been searching for gifts last night. “Look what I got from my Stranger,” Gilly said, holding it up. It was soft tan leather with an ergonomic strap, a padded sleeve that could hold a laptop and two large gussets in the front for phones, pens and the like. It was strong enough to carry all of her books, but still stylish and comfortable to carry.

“Very nice,” Brienne said approvingly. The bag was very expensive. She thought they’d agreed to just get the girl some nice gloves. Clearly Jaime had decided otherwise and placed the order while she was asleep. “It will be nice for school.”

“It was hand-delivered a little bit ago. I’ve never had something so nice,” Gilly said, one hand stroking the supple leather. “Seems odd that my Stranger would get exactly what I need.”

Brienne turned away, busying herself with her mail so Gilly couldn’t see her telltale blush. “Your Stranger has probably seen you in the courtyard struggling with that backpack with the broken strap,” Brienne said.

“Also seems a lot more than the price limit,” Gilly said.

“Your Stranger missed the first two days and was probably trying to make it up to you,” she said. She was going to have to talk to Jaime. He might not know the value of a dragon, but Gilly sure did. “Do you like it?”

 “Makes me feel like I belong at King’s,” she mumbled, then fingered her ratty sweatshirt and pressed her lips together.

“You do belong, Gilly. You have a full academic scholarship at one of the most prestigious universities in Westeros. No one belongs at King’s more than you,” Brienne said. The bag might have helped, but Gilly could have all the nice things in the world and she’d still feel like an imposter unless she was able to realize in her gut that she was good enough for what she had.

Gilly turned away quickly and grabbed her hoodie from the closet and shrugged into it. She said goodbye with a nod at Brienne’s own gifts, reminding her to open them. As soon as Gilly walked out the door, Brienne turned back to the table with a sigh.

She started with the one from her Stranger. She untied the basket and found an array of cucumbers, carrots, zucchini, and bananas, as well as a bottle of olive oil. She wasn’t sure how the gift represented a celebration of women or something homemade, but she appreciated the thoughtfulness of her Stranger. She did like to eat healthy.

Reluctantly, she moved on to the second one from Jaime, the Doreah’s Secret box. She untied the ribbon securing the box and removed the lid. It was a full set of edible body paint. The packaging read, “When all you need to wear is skin.” She tensed trying to figure it out. Did he want her to paint him? Him to paint her? How could she please him?

She sighed and steeled herself to open up the last package, then one she’d received in the mail. She ripped the paper open to find a large, shiny black and white gift box inside. Inside that, buried in tissue paper was a gigantic “Thirty-Nine Shades of Winter Makeup Palette” from Sephora. Brienne groaned as she looked at it. It held a year’s supply of makeup for a normal woman; she knew that in a lifetime she wouldn’t ever use it up. Reluctantly, she opened the note with the gift. _Here’s something to bring out your feminine qualities for Mother’s Eve,_ it said. It wasn’t signed but she knew exactly who sent it.

Other girls liked cosmetics, didn’t they? She picked up her phone and texted Jaime. _Don’t worry about tomorrow’s gift for Gilly. It’s taken care of,_ she sent.

He responded with a smiley-face kiss and _Can’t wait to see you, all of you, tonight._

He really seemed to mean it. She looked at the body paint. She felt just a little better.

***

Roose had let Walda sleep in on the morning of Mother’s Eve. He understood that Southron women took Mother’s Eve seriously and he wanted her to rest up for the long night ahead. He’d considered opening her Secret Stranger gift — his finely honed skills would allow him to open it and close it undetected — but he knew he would see it when he got home. He’d laid the package on the dining room table next to his own. Walda liked to open presents together.

He should have realized, he thought as Walda jumped up and down and squealed upon his return home, that his wife could not resist the temptation of a shiny, glittery package addressed to her.

“Oh, Roose!” Walda cried out, in a tone she reserved for orgasms, diamonds and exceptional desserts at restaurants, “Did you see this? Did you _see_ this? You must have. The proportions are just right,” she said.

“Proportions?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She reached into the box on the dining room table and dramatically pulled out a pink cloth, waving it through the air and then pulling it over her head. It was an apron — a pink gingham apron. And, unlike every other apron he’d ever seen Walda wear, the cloth fully covered her voluminous bust. “You can’t hide it from me anymore, Roosie! Who else would know that I wanted an apron that would actually cover my shirt, and know exactly how large to make it?”

 _Who indeed?_ He narrowed his eyes, glancing out the window. Who in the complex besides himself was familiar enough with Walda to know her measurements so well?

For just a moment he wondered if she was having an affair, but immediately dismissed the thought as she effused further over the stitching, the detail, the color. Walda wouldn’t be stupid enough to glow over a gift given to her by a lover, nor would she be cunning enough to hide it from him if she was having an affair.

He recalled seeing Stannis Baratheon through the window departing at a very early hour. Was his downstairs neighbor the culprit? Or was it Brienne, the tall gawky blonde who’d begun dating the rich idiot in the penthouse? She seemed incapable of guile, but of course the best spies would.

Roose narrowed his eyes.

Walda nudged him. “I’ve been so busy chattering about my gift that I haven’t even given you a chance to open your gift! Why don’t you open it up?” she said.

He did. The package was a rectangle just a bit larger than his hand, and once again the wrapping paper looked hand-decorated. Inside was an old-fashioned print of a hunting scene in the Northern woods. The style of the art was at least a hundred years old and the scene it depicted, based on the clothes and the direwolves, was clearly far older. The picture frame had what looked like small branches applied to it to make it look like an extension of the forest scene. He tilted his head, admiring it.

“Oh, decoupage,” Walda said, sniffing. “It’s so rough and clumsy. The picture must be from a thrift store.”

“I’ll keep it at the office, then,” Roose said, putting the wrapping paper around it and tucking it in his bag. Walda was right, it was likely a thrift store purchase, but the person who had acquired it could clearly see its value. The decoration on the frame showed the ability to create things and a certain Northern touch that he’d missed in the South. He knew that the Gilly girl living with Brienne was on scholarship, and they’d had a brief conversation about the North. She may have been poor, but based on the gift she was resourceful. He’d make sure to put it in his office in a place where he could admire it.

“Well, I’m heading over to Sansa and Margaery’s for Mother’s Eve.” She picked up a reusable grocery bag that had baked goods practically flowing from the top and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. “I’ll be out late, dear. Don’t wait up.”

“Of course,” he said, giving her a kiss. He’d go to sleep, but he’d sleep with one eye open until Walda returned.

***

Margaery held Sansa’s hand as they sat on the couch. She could feel Sansa’s fingers twitch.

“The toilet’s making that funny noise again,” Sansa said. She started to get up.

“It’s fine, Sansa,” Margaery said. She heard Catelyn say it in unison with her and flashed her girlfriend’s mother a smile.

“Sansa, you’ve done such a beautiful job decorating our home,” Margaery said.

“I couldn’t have done a better job myself,” Catelyn said.

The doorbell rang.

“That must be my grandmother,” Margaery said. She squeezed Sansa’s hand and went to get the door.

It was indeed her frail-looking grandmother, carrying a small bag filled with food and a large bag filled with six bottles of wine. “My goodness, what a lot of decorating,” her grandmother said, looking around the apartment. “Here, dear,” she said, handing over the bag of wine. Margaery nearly toppled at the weight. “Just making sure we don’t run out,” her grandmother said with a smile.

“Of course,” Margaery said. “First let me make introductions and then I’ll pour you a glass. This is Sansa’s mother, Catelyn Stark. Catelyn, this is my grandmother, Olenna Redwyne.”

By the time the first glass was over the two older women seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Margaery retreated to the kitchen to refill their wine glasses; Sansa followed.

Margaery looked up at the clock. “I would have expected Brienne to arrive by now. She’s normally so timely.”

“I think it’s all right. They seem to be getting along well,” Sansa said, looking through the pass-through at the living room.

“Yes, for now. But still, best to surround them with other people so they don’t get too tired of each other’s company,” Margaery said.

The doorbell rang. Sansa and Margaery raced to be the first to get the door. It was Sansa’s friend Tysha, with Walda right behind her, holding enough baked goods to feed ten Mother’s Eve parties. Sansa welcomed Tysha. Margaery swooped in on Walda before the other woman could make any faux-sweet cutting comments about Sansa’s decorating.

“That’s quite a lot of cupcakes you have there, Walda!” Margaery said with all the enthusiasm she could muster.

“It’s also camouflage from Roosie,” Walda said, lifting out the cupcakes and putting them on the counter to reveal several coffee-table art books with salacious pictures of men on the cover. “The Male Nude,” “Men’s Bathhouses — The Black and White Years” and, at the bottom “The Big Book of Penises 3-D.”

“It even comes with a pair of 3-D glasses. Here, put them on,” Walda said enthusiastically.

By the time she was three pages in, Margaery, who’d never been a huge fan of penises to begin with, had seen enough dicks to last her to menopause and beyond. “I’m sure my grandmother will love these,” she said. When Walda’s eyes went wide, Margaery said, “No, really. My grandmother is a great believer in the traditions of Mother’s Eve.”

The doorbell rang again. Margaery opened the door to Brienne, Gilly — and Stannis Baratheon’s eleven-year-old daughter.

“Hello!” Margaery said, loudly enough to be heard across the apartment. “It’s Brienne and Gilly with Stannis’s little daughter! What’s your name?” she asked the girl.

“I’m Shireen,” the little girl said, holding out her hand.

With surprisingly fluid grace, Walda scooped up the naughty hardcover books and swept them back into the bag. “Cupcake?” she said sweetly, holding out the plastic container with one hand as she held the bag behind her back with the other.

“I’ll tell our exotic dancer to come later in the evening,” Margaery’s grandmother said, picking up her mobile phone and making her way toward the bedroom.

Shireen’s brow furrowed. “But I like dancing,” she said to Brienne. “And I like exotic things. This morning Daddy and I went to a Mother Rhoyne celebration to welcome back the sun! And Daddy ate all their cookies.” She reached out for a cupcake. “Those look just like the ones Daddy’s Secret Stranger left on our doorstep. They were yummy.”

“Did your daddy like them?” Walda asked.

“Daddy didn’t eat any. He only likes cookies,” she said.

“Only cookies?” Walda repeated. Margaery heard her say under her breath, “I can work with that.”

As Walda took Shireen under her wing to introduce to the group, Margaery took a bag from Brienne’s hand. “Is this your famous seven-layer dip?” she asked.

Brienne nodded and followed Margaery into the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I texted Sansa to ask if I could bring Shireen and she said all right.”

“She’s been a little distracted today decorating the house. It’s fine.” Margaery said, vowing to start reading Sansa’s texts for her to prevent any more surprises. “It will allow us to keep the mayhem down to a dull roar for the first couple of hours. I’ll make my famous frozen fruit cocktails to go with your dip,” she said.

“She calls them Marg-a-ritas,” Sansa said, rushing into the kitchen in a flurry of energy. “I almost forgot — I got everyone tiaras for tonight,” she said. The one she put on Margaery’s head, decorated with rhinestone roses, was gaudy. The one she placed on Brienne’s head, blue and sparkly, was tasteful by comparison, but it didn’t stop Brienne from flinching. Sansa didn’t notice, but Margaery did. After Sansa left, Margaery said, “Not a fan of tiaras, I see.”

“I have some bad associations with them,” Brienne said, grimacing and untangling it from her hair.

“Maybe you could give yours to Shireen?” Margaery suggested, as she handed Brienne her first drink of the night. “Here. I think you need this even more than I do.”

***

That girly girl Margaery had taken Brienne away into the kitchen, leaving Gilly uneasy in the living room. She’d come to observe the event, true, but she’d sort of thought she’d have Brienne to lean on while she did it. She knew the ladies who lived in the complex, but she didn’t really _know_ them.

There was a whole bunch of food on the coffee table, at least. All the seats were taken, so she plopped down on the carpet and considered her options. There were potato chips, and some kind of fancy corn chips, and some other kind of chip she didn’t recognize. The dips all looked scary — shades of brown and green rather than the bottle of ranch dressing that was a staple on her family’s table for parties. And then there was the weird dark green, filmy-looking chips in a bowl. She reached in and picked one up. _Maybe they’re like a weird potato chip_ , she thought, and popped it in her mouth.

Her taste buds were immediately flooded with a salty, ocean-y flavor that was like every single thing she’d ever hated about fish, concentrated. The only thing that kept her from spitting it out was a fear of embarrassment, and the thought of how much it would cost to clean the fancy beige carpet. She looked around for a napkin.

“Those are dried seaweed,” someone said from behind her. Gilly turned around to see her TA sitting in the chair.

Gilly forced down the nasty practical joke of a snack. “Oh. Hey,” Gilly said awkwardly, her stomach suddenly unsettled by what she’d just eaten, or maybe by nerves.

The brunette continued, “I’m not a big fan of them either. But you might like the avocado dip,” she said, pointing at the bowl full of green stuff that looked remarkably like the smashed peas she’d cleaned off Jaime’s floor this morning. “It’s less, um, extreme.”

Gilly picked up a corn chip and dunked a corner in the dip. It wasn’t bad.

“You’re Gilly, right? You’re a scholarship student too,” her TA said.

“What do you mean, ‘too?’” Gilly asked, stopping herself from reaching out for another chip.

The TA gave her a wry smile. “I have put together so many grants, fellowships and scholarships to go to grad school, you don’t even know. At the beginning of every semester it feels like half of what I’m doing is reapplying so I can make sure I have funding for next semester,” she said.

“Oh!” Gilly said, surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that the pretty girl in the hipster clothes might actually be in the same situation she was. “My scholarship’s for all four years, so long’s I keep my grades up,” she said.

“Well, Tyrion — Dr. Lannister — was very impressed with your essay,” the other woman said. “I’m Tysha, by the way. Don’t worry, I’m not going to grade you on your performance here.” She winked.

Gilly shook her head. “I’m never going to get used to these people,” she said.

“I thought that too, when I got here,” Tysha said. “But now when I go home...” She shrugged. “When I go home I miss Pentoshi takeout. And Dornish food.”

“Are you from the North too?” Gilly asked. The other woman’s accent didn’t sound Northern.

“No, out West. A little town near Lannisport,” she said. “My dad owns a Waffle House franchise, which meant I started working there as soon as it was legal. My mom’s a waitress there. My brothers do the cooking.”

“My dad owns a trailer park,” Gilly said. “All my sisters live there.”

“But you probably want to live there about as much as I want to serve up covered, diced, smothered and scattered hashbrowns,” Tysha said grinning.

Gilly nodded. “But it’s so hard,” she said. “I’m supposed to get my expense check from the financial aid office but trying to get them to give it to me is like trying to tunnel through the Wall in the North with a spoon.”

Tysha laughed. “That’s a good description of it. But I know a couple of workarounds,” she said, leaning forward. “Let me give you a few tips.”

***

Tyrion let himself into Jaime’s dimly lit loft, bag of Pentoshi takeout in hand. “Ah, Mother’s Eve, the night where all the women cloister themselves and we men are free to devolve into our most primitive form,” he announced. “It’s nights like tonight that I actually consider drinking beer. Does the lighting mean we’re going to play _Call of Duty 39: Winter Has Come_ on the big screen?”

“Maybe later,” Jaime said, peering through his binoculars out the window.

“The birdwatching excuse only works during the day, you know,” Tyrion said.

“Why do you think most of the lights are out?” Jaime said.

“Stranger take me. A glass of Rhoynish will make this night much easier,” Tyrion said, shaking his head. “Are you worried the Young Lesbians are going to seduce Brienne?”

“I’m worried she’s not going to have a good time,” Jaime said. “She was tense this afternoon when her former mentor invited her. That woman is a shrew. I told her that I thought Brienne should stay in King’s Landing and she acted like I was some sort of crazy stalker.”

“I’m shocked,” Tyrion said sarcastically. His hand drifted over the normal wine glasses, hesitated, and then reached for the enormous ones. He was going to need a lot of wine to get through the evening.

“My Wench brought Baby Bear to the party. I guess they’re not going to have any strippers,” Jaime said.

“And neither are we, more’s the pity,” Tyrion said, pulling the food out of the bag. “Please pause your Peeping Tom act for a few minutes and enjoy this delicious repast. I put so much effort into ordering it.”

“In a minute,” Jaime said. “She’s just standing there. No one is talking to her. They didn’t even give her a shiny crown to wear. You’re standing right next to her, Baker Wife, say something to her!”

“They can’t hear you,” Tyrion said. “At least I hope they can’t.”

“Baker Wife is too busy discussing — hmm, discussing the gift I got her,” Jaime’s voice switched from outraged to pleased.

“Do you read lips now?” Tyrion asked.

“I don’t need to read lips. Baker Wife’s hand gestures are like semaphore. She liked it but — now she’s talking about the makeup they’re putting on Baby Bear. Brienne, don’t —  She’s backing away. Now she’s going into the kitchen.”

“I am too, and I’m taking the Pentoshi with me if you don’t put down those binoculars,” Tyrion said.

“Wait,” Jaime said. “Someone is following her.”

***

When the other women began putting makeup on Shireen, Brienne had to go into the kitchen. Shireen seemed to enjoy her position as the center of attention, but just watching brought back too many bad memories of Brienne’s Mother’s Eves with her own family.

A female voice echoed in her head as if it was being said right now rather than fifteen years ago. _If I can make even_ her _look beautiful with this makeup, imagine what it can do for you!_ With vicious strength, Brienne dug a corn chip into the seven-layer dip. The chip shattered. _I can’t even eat dip properly_ , she thought.

Margaery, the picture of perfect femininity, appeared at her elbow. “Another Marg-a-rita?” she asked with a smile on her face. “Or would you like something else?”

 _A potion to turn me into a real girl_ , Brienne thought to herself, feeling ashamed at having been caught hiding. “You don’t have to play hostess for me, Margaery. I’m just — I have a lot of work on at the moment. I’m going to head out when Shireen leaves. This company in Pyke has designed a fish de-boning appliance and the owner wants to discuss another project.”

Margaery raised an eyebrow and poured herself a drink. “It’s already late in Pyke. I’m sure he doesn’t want to discuss it tonight. That’s not what’s on your mind at all. You looked at that tiara like someone had just killed your pet cat and asked you to wear it on your head.”

“Quite a metaphor,” Brienne said.

Margaery leaned close and whispered, “Well, Dr. Bolton did offer to taxidermy Lady for us. It’s been on my mind.”

 _What an unpleasant thought._ Brienne shook her head. “I’m not…” She trailed off. For someone who wrote for a living, when it came to talking about herself she was damnably short of words. “Mother’s Eve and I have never been a good fit. Makeup, tiaras — it’s not me.”

Margaery’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, it doesn’t have to be about that, or not just that. They’re having fun making over Shireen now, but there will be other things.”

“Yes, but it’s all about being girly. That’s — I’m no good at that,” Brienne said, wishing she could ignore her overlarge, mannish body.

Margaery looked her up and down before asking, “Is that what Mother’s Eve was about in your family?”

“Isn’t that what it’s about in every family?” she asked.

Margaery smiled, one of her small, secret smiles, and poured another drink. “When I was a girl, my mother decided that since Mother’s Eve was traditionally about passing down the mysteries from mother to daughter, she would use that time to teach us about anatomy.” She handed the glass over to Brienne. “She showed us charts of female and male genitalia. I learned more things about hymens than anyone should know.” Brienne took a sip of her drink. “And when we hit puberty, out came the mirror and the speculum.”

Brienne choked, the tequila burning her sinuses. “You mean you —”

“Oh, yes,” Margaery nodded. “Show and tell time.” She shrugged. “And then my grandmother found out and decided my mother was bonkers. She took control of Mother’s Eve and from then on it was the three S’s: shopping, spas and strippers.”

“Did you say stripping?” Cat asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Grandmother says the stripper will be here later,” Margaery said. She covered it well, but the way the corners of Margaery’s mouth twisted showed Brienne exactly what the other woman thought of that.

“Oh,” Cat laughed. “I thought you were talking about furniture stripping. On Mother’s Eve the girls and I used to do projects together — refinishing tables, sewing curtains, that sort of thing. I told them it was a way for them to learn grown-up mysteries.” She smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I didn’t tell them that the grown-up mystery they were learning was how to get their daughters to pitch in on household projects. As my mother taught me,” she said, raising her glass up.

“To mothers,” Margaery said with a sideways smile.

Brienne clinked her glasses with the others, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in their tribute.

Sansa called to Marg to bring Shireen a non-alcholic drink. Marg poured a glass of juice, adding a little pink umbrella to it. She raised the glass to Catelyn and Brienne and nodded. “Once more unto the breach?”

***

“Why do they keep leaving her alone?” Jaime asked, mouth full of Pentoshi fry. “She’s the most interesting person there.”

Tyrion reached for the binoculars, ready to wrest them from his brother when Jaime’s phone began playing a familiar dirge. They both froze and looked at the offending device. It was the ringtone both used for Tywin Lannister.

Tyrion nodded to Jaime. “Going to answer?”

“My hands are a little full,” Jaime responded, holding the binoculars in one hand and picking up a fry with the other.

The phone stopped and immediately started again.

“You’d best answer before he sends over his one of his office slaves to check on your well-being.”

Jaime dropped the binoculars on the couch and hit the speakerphone button. “Father.”

“Jaime, why did you not answer immediately?” Tywin’s disapproval came through clearly.

“He was eating,” Tyrion answered and mimicked Jaime spying on the party.

“Hrm, I had hoped you were working, Jaime. You’ve not been into the office in quite some time,” Tywin responded in clipped tones.

“My knee isn’t healing as quickly as I’d hoped. It’s easier to work from home,” Jaime answered. “Don’t worry, you’re still getting your money’s worth out of me.”

“What is the problem with the injury? I’ll have my assistant schedule you for a second opinion with another specialist,” Tywin said. “Unless you’ve been ignoring your doctor’s orders. Have you been engaging in strenuous physical activity?”

Tyrion wrapped his arms around himself and made kissy faces.

Jaime gave his brother a one finger salute.

“I wanted to discuss the latest portfolio projections,” Tywin said.

“Now?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion picked up the binoculars.

***

Olenna approached the tall blonde hovering over the vegetable tray in the kitchen. “Margaery tells me you’re dating Jaime Lannister?” she asked, startling the younger woman.

Brienne turned to her, mouth full of half-chewed broccoli and nodded. She swallowed quickly and took another sip of her drink. “Yes, I’m dating Jaime. You’re dating his father?”

Olenna nodded. She had never been one to beat around the bush and she had a little idea in her head. She smiled as innocently as she could manage. “It’s nice, isn’t it? To have a holiday about women and bonding and motherhood.”

Brienne grimaced slightly. “It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, weren’t you close to your mother?” Olenna pried.

Brienne choked again, this time possibly on her own tongue. She turned away, “Not particularly.”

 _Intriguing_. “Ah well, perhaps once you have children of your own, you’ll find Mother’s Eve more appealing.”

Brienne shook her head, almost violently, “Children? Me? No, I-I no. I’m not. I mean, I never planned to —”

Olenna smiled.

***

Tyrion refocused the binoculars and listened to Jaime trying desperately to end his conversation with their father. By the time he succeeded, Tyrion had eaten most of the fries.

“That’s my TA Tysha over there,” Tyrion said, pointing her out to Jaime. “And is that Gilly Craster?”

“Gilly? How do you know my housekeeper?” Jaime asked.

“Your housekeeper? I knew scholarship students had trouble making ends meet, but cleaning up after you is a fate worse than death,” Tyrion said, turning away from the binoculars to smirk at his brother. “Perhaps I should find a research position for her.”

“You’ve taken enough from me already tonight,” Jaime said, waving a hand at the empty bags of food. “Has Brienne been having a good time? Are people talking to her? Was she laughing?”

Tyrion handed over the binoculars and rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.” He stood up to refill his wine and looked out the window. “Huh. That’s interesting,” he said, despite himself.

“What?” Jaime said. He started to turn to look, then winced as his knee pressed against the arm of the sofa.

Tyrion stepped forward and looked down into the courtyard. “I see a blue-haired, muscular man in a tuxedo walking toward the Young Lesbians’ apartment, and Baby Bear is saying her goodbyes.” He yanked the cork out of the wine bottle viciously. “You’ve been telling me about these people for so long I’m starting to sound like you,” he said. Then he grabbed the binoculars.

“Those are mine,” Jaime said.

“I believe the man that just entered the building is a stripper,” Tyrion said. “That may not be the team I bat for, but as a critic of the art form I have a professional interest.”

Jaime looked out the window. “At least Brienne isn’t alone in the kitchen anymore,” Jaime said, wresting the binoculars from his brother’s grip. “There he is at the door. He has roses. Maybe he’s just delivering flowers.”

“Did you see what he was wearing?” Tyrion said.

With a flourish, suddenly the dancer was waving something white in the air. “He’s wearing a lot less now,” Jaime said, glancing at his brother before looking back through the binoculars. “How did he _do_ that? The shirt’s across the room but his jacket’s still on.”

“Strategically placed Velcro,” Tyrion said, taking a sip of his wine and enjoying the view of the women as they ogled the dancer. Well, most of them. The one Jaime called Smirky Lesbian yawned and went back into the kitchen.

“Brienne’s looking at his abs!” Jaime frowned as he looked through the binoculars. “I have abs!”

“Not like those. I don’t need binoculars to see his six-pack,” Tyrion said.

“I have a six-pack,” Jaime said, then poked his stomach and frowned again. “Had. Maybe that’s why she’s giving me work out books.”

Tyrion tilted his head. “The ladies seem to be enjoying his moves.”

“Brienne doesn’t need some guy to dance for her,” Jaime said. “I could dance for her.”

“I’ll buy you a pole dancing class for Stranger’s Eve,” Tyrion said.

***

The dancer slipped into the bathroom to change, and Margaery emerged from the kitchen, bolstered with another drink. Grandmother had said they’d rented the man for a full hour. Margaery wished she’d had the forethought to stash a book in one of the kitchen cabinets.

“Oh, but it would be so _pretty_ if everything was just a couple of shades of cream, with a bright accent color,” Walda was saying loudly to Catelyn, gesturing broadly at Sansa’s living room. Margaery could see Sansa’s cheeks turning pink and slid in to defuse the situation.

“Oh, Walda, you brought those lovely baked desserts. Now that it’s intermission, I think it’s time to break them out!” Margaery said brightly. As she escorted Walda toward the kitchen, Cat mouthed a “thank you” at her.

The moment Walda walked out of the kitchen, Sansa walked in. “I noticed you weren’t out there while he was performing,” she said.

“I hope it wasn’t that noticeable,” Margaery said.

“I think everyone else was too distracted. Walda seemed to enjoy it when he rubbed against her. Brienne was completely mortified, but couldn’t tear herself away,” Sansa said.

“And what about you?” Margaery asked.

Sansa filled her glass. “Would it bother you if I liked looking at him?”

“That depends.” Margaery moved closer to Sansa and slid one finger down her girlfriend’s arm. “I don’t mind if he warms you up a little bit before you come to bed tonight.”

Sansa blushed and her eyes went wide. It was fun to still be able to shock her after all this time. Margaery leaned in for a kiss.

Sansa turned her head. “Is that the toilet?” she asked.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Margaery said, turning Sansa’s face toward hers.

And then, suddenly, there was a loud crash, the roar of water, and the sound of a man screaming.

“Shit,” Sansa said, pulling out of Margaery’s embrace to race toward the bathroom.

Margaery glanced up at the ceiling. “Am I cursed?” she asked whichever god was listening. Then she followed in Sansa’s wake.

The stripper stood outside of the bathroom in his underwear, dripping wet, blue hair dye running in streaks down his face. “I swear, I didn’t touch it! I didn’t touch anything!” he said.

The sound of rushing water got quieter and quieter. The women pressed into the bathroom to look at the remains of what had been an average condominium toilet.

Suddenly, the water surged again, spurting up like a geyser. The stream rebounded off the ceiling, soaking everyone — except for Grandmother, who had by wisdom or sheer luck stayed too far away to be touched by a drop of water. They backed out of the bathroom.

“That’s like the Water Gardens!” Walda exclaimed. “We gotta shut the water off.” She, and everyone else, looked expectantly at Brienne.

“I _write_ appliance manuals,” Brienne said, holding her hands in front of her as water dripped down her face. “I don’t actually install appliances. Or plumbing, for that matter.”

“Sansa,” Catelyn said with the crisp air of command. “Get the toolkit I gave you.”

“Right,” Sansa said. She raced off, then came back with her bright blue toolbox.

“Girls, we’re going to need all your towels.” Catelyn reached in and pulled out a wrench. “I’m going in,” she said. She strode into the bathroom with authority and knelt on the floor of the flooding bathroom, water cascading down on her from above. With two twists of the wrench, she stopped the water.

Margaery could hear a drip-drip-drip from below them. Sansa’s hands flew to her mouth. “The ping-pong room,” she said.

Catelyn leaned on the sink and tried to wipe her dripping face off with her equally wet arm, then gave up. “It appears the Mother has decided that tonight is the night you’re introduced to the mysteries of condominium insurance and twenty-four hour plumbers,” she said.

***

“Why are they all wet?” Jaime asked.

“Maybe he took them in the shower with him?” Tyrion asked incredulously. “Although they’re all clothed, and he doesn’t seem very happy. Oh, Father’s girlfriend just handed him a large wad of cash. He seems much more cheerful now.”

Tyrion watched as Olenna snuck off to the kitchen and examined the unopened bottles of wine, choosing certain vintages to stick into her bag. His respect for her grew.

“Brienne looks miserable. The Young Lesbians have gone into their bedroom to change. So did Catelyn. Your assistant and Gilly are heading back to Brienne’s. What is she doing with all those towels? Why isn’t anyone helping her? Why is Baker Wife leaving?”

Tyrion shook his head as Olenna snuck out the door, bag in hand, just after.

***

Roose heard Walda enter the apartment. Her usually cheerful steps seemed heavy, but they were still hers. She dropped something on the kitchen table, probably the remaining baked goods. Then he heard the sound of sodden clothing hitting the tiled floor. He was preparing to investigate when she opened the bedroom door, naked as her name-day. She lifted the covers and crawled in beside him, her flesh damp and chilled. She pressed her head into his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her.

“Roose, warm me up,” she whispered in his ear.

He was happy to oblige.

***

Jaime watched the rest of the women exit the apartment. They’d all gone to Brienne’s. She’d changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt. She also brought out some bedding and placed it on the couch.

Catelyn seemed to be in a bit of an argument with her daughter; Brienne shook her head and motioned towards Jaime’s apartment.

“You’ve got to leave, Brienne is on her way,” Jaime told Tyrion.

“Why can’t I meet her?”

Jaime gave his brother the side-eye. “She’s coming over wearing her pajamas.”

Tyrion raised his hands, “Fine, fine.” He looked down into the courtyard, “Tysha’s leaving too. Maybe I can offer her a ride.” Tyrion whipped out his phone and sent a quick text.

Tyrion’s coat was on and he was out the door before Brienne entered the building. He opened the door as he heard the ping of the elevator. She stumbled towards him, clearly unsteady. She hadn’t even put on a coat.

“Hi,” he smiled at her. “Are you drunk?”

She nodded then shook her head. “A little, but not so much anymore.”

“How was your Mother’s Eve?” he asked.

For a moment she looked terribly sad. Then a small smile crossed her face. “Walda brought cupcakes and the toilet exploded. That makes it my best Mother’s Eve ever.”

He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder. She smelled faintly of fruit and chlorine. “A toilet exploded?”

She sighed against his neck. “Don’t ask.”

“You’re here now,” he said, tightening his arms around her, rocking back and forth inching them towards the bedroom. “With me.”

She pulled back slightly and shook her head. “I can’t stay. Sansa and Margaery and Cat are all staying at my place. Well, Cat wanted to get a hotel. Sansa is saying she and Catelyn can share a bed if Gilly is comfortable sharing with Margaery. Gilly is fine with that since she has so many sisters. Margaery says she’s happy to share with me, but I’m sleeping on the couch tonight. I left them to sort it out.”

Jaime kissed her cheek and pulled her head back down to his shoulder, running his fingers through her damp hair. “My bed is much more comfortable than a couch. Stay with me?” he offered. “We can just sleep. I liked waking up with you this morning.”

He felt her blush heat his neck.

“I liked it too,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “but I’m the hostess. I have to go back. I just didn’t want to break my word to you.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her back warming her, feeling the tension drain out of her. “You’ll sleep better here.”

She nodded. “I probably would. I still have to go.” She pulled back. “Good night, Jaime.” She darted forward to give him a quick peck but he caught her, pressing a soft, sweet kiss on her lips.

He let her go after a moment, “Good night, Brienne.”

Before she got back across the courtyard, he had a pillow and blankets in place. He sat in his chair staring out the window, his leg propped up on the couch. Her apartment was dark when she returned, the ladies having settled into some sleeping arrangement. He caught glimpses of Brienne in the blue glow from the courtyard lamps. He watched her make up the bed and lay on the couch, one hand beneath her cheek. She seemed to be staring up at him. In this light, she could almost be a beauty. In this light, he could watch her through the night.

***

Sam ignored the snow that had somehow gotten trapped between his boot and his sock as he pulled the letters from his worn carrier bag. He tugged off his gloves, not even noticing the cold burning the bare skin of his fingers. So many Crasters; so many letters. He flipped over one envelope after another. He was just thankful they’d not yet discovered Wi-Fi. There it was, the thirty-ninth letter he’d checked. Another note. To _him._

_Dear Crow,_

_I hope this note finds you well. Another day with no Secret Stranger gifts. Not that I was really expecting them. It’s Father’s Eve and my father, as you might have noticed, is not the kindest of men. Was your father kind, Crow? For some reason, I imagine not. If you’re ever a father, I think you will be. How is it that I feel like I know you? Perhaps I just like knowing there is someone out there, reading my notes and thinking of me. I’m thinking of you, Crow._

_Gilly_

How did she know? How could she possibly know that he’d hated his father? Or rather that his father had hated him?

He stared at the letter, memorizing his words, wishing he could keep it for himself. He hoped her Mother’s Eve was better, that she’d spent it with friends. He imagined her coming home from the party giggling and a little tipsy and falling into his arms. He’d make her drink water and tuck her in bed, smoothing the soft brown hair from her forehead as she fell asleep smiling.

Mechanical laughter broke him from his reverie. He looked up and glared at the miniature dancing ice monsters swinging from the lampposts as he quickened his steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's line about Tywin getting his money's worth even though Jaime is working from home is almost a direct lift from [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice/works) in Game of Stacks. You are a huge inspiration to us, and we always want to credit you when we swipe your stuff...er, pay homage to you. :-)
> 
> We did not make up "The Big Book of Penises 3-D." It is printed by Taschen Books.


	5. Warrior's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Warrior's Eve and time for the Lannister family dinner. What will Brienne wear? Why is Stannis in flip-flops? What is Walda baking? Will Margaery ever get a moment alone with Sansa? And why is Roose on the hallway floor?

Gilly hadn’t had any trouble sleeping next to Margaery in the big double bed. Sure, at one point during the night the girly girl had thrown an arm over Gilly’s torso and mumbled something about cucumbers, but that was nothing. At home she’d had to share a skinny twin bed with one sister or another, and each one of them had their weird sleeping habits. Dyah insisted on sleeping with her stuffed horses, and Nella used to try to strangle people in her sleep. Compared to that, Margaery was positively restful. And as soon as they heard Brienne and Catelyn leave for breakfast, Margaery was out the door like a shot and into bed with her girlfriend.

She felt a flash of envy. Sure, sharing the bed with Margaery had been better than sharing with her sisters, but sharing it with someone special would be even better. She sighed. No use thinking about that now.

Gilly enjoyed having the bed to herself for a minute. Funny how a body could get used to having a big bed to herself after just a few months. Maybe Tysha was right that she’d get used to King’s after all.

She shuffled out to the living room and saw a package on the dining room table with her name on it, a big shiny black and white striped box tied up with a red bow. She carefully unwound the ribbon and opened the clever little box — no tape necessary — and inside found the “39 Shades of Winter Blockbuster Makeup Palette.”

Thirty-nine shades? She turned the box over to read the label. _This limited edition set of 20 high-pigment eyeshadows, ten vibrant high-shine lip glosses, eight creamy long-lasting eyeliners and one waterproof mascara has shades to flatter any skin tone and features exclusive never-before-seen colors that can be combined to create standout looks._

Twenty eyeshadows? Gilly had her brown Wet ‘n Wild eyeshadow and that was all she needed. Blue and white eyeshadow would just make her look like an ice zombie. What kind of girl was going to wear gold and green eyeshadow, anyway?

Then she heard Margaery’s voice through the bedroom door. “Come on, let’s shower quickly. I need to make myself presentable for the contractor.”

Gilly grabbed the present, rushed back into her room and stuffed it in her closet. At least tomorrow she could give a gift she didn’t have to pay for. She didn’t even have to worry about re-wrapping that clever black and white box so long as she did a good job tying the ribbon up. Her Secret Stranger had done her a favor.

***

Stannis could see the shiny round tin on the entry mat as soon as Davos opened the door. Davos picked it up and patted the lid. “Shireen will want a snack after school, and Sal —”

“No,” Stannis said, wresting the tin from Davos’s hands. “I shall bring it to my office and share it with my coworkers.”

“Stannis...” Davos began.

“Credit me with some self-control,” Stannis said, tugging the waistband of the pants he’d borrowed from Davos down slightly so it didn’t cut into his stomach. Davos’s pants used to be too big for Stannis. Clearly, his partner had trimmed down over the past year. “I believe you were the one who told me that gifts such as these would be good for office morale.” He picked up his briefcase and swung his scarf around his neck. “I will be back one hour before this ridiculous Drowned God ice swim.”

Davos opened his mouth, then closed it again and patted Stannis on the shoulder. “Have a good day, love.”

Stannis walked down the stairs. Over the past two days, he noticed he’d felt the downward steps more in his knees. One of the consequences of aging, perhaps. He could see his breath as he walked to the subway, and by the time he got there he was panting in the cold air, and roasting under his coat. As he boarded the escalator, he found a frail little old lady standing on the left hand side, impeding traffic and ignoring the clearly posted signs that said “Stand right; walk left.” Commuters rushed by her on the right hand side, contravening the rules. His hand clenched around the cookie tin.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said.

She did not respond.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said more loudly.

She looked up at him through rheumy eyes.

“The sign says that if you are to stand, you should do so on the right,” Stannis pointed out.

She looked around. “But people are walking there! I would be in the way,” she said.

Stannis fumed for the rest of the escalator ride. Soon enough, he was on the platform, where the digital sign said the Kingsgate line was running ten minutes late.

Ten minutes! He would be ten minutes late for work and he needed to leave fifteen minutes early for this dreadful ice swim. He pulled the cookie tin tighter to his chest as commuters crowded around him. A woman looked pointedly at him, eyes traveling to the brightly colored container. Stannis ground his teeth. Then, almost like a voice in his head, he remembered Davos’s statements about dental work and forced his jaw to relax.

He looked down at the gift. Surely a peek inside wouldn’t hurt. He lifted the lid.

They weren’t just any cookies. Half of them were snickerdoodles; the other half were shortbread. But was it plain shortbread? He pulled a piece out and smelled. The scent instantly transported him to a more peaceful place. It was lavender shortbread, a seemingly simple recipe yet so difficult to get precisely right. He wondered if his Secret Stranger had managed it. He peeked in the tin. Surely none of his coworkers would notice if one piece was gone. One hand shoved the entire cookie in his mouth as the other clutched the tin to his chest.

By the time Stannis boarded his train to the office, the only things left in the container were crumbs and shame.

***

Brienne had brushed her teeth twice, but her mouth still tasted like she’d spent all night sucking on something dead and rotting. There was a throbbing pain behind her left eye made worse when she looked at the neon owl in the window. Her stomach felt as if someone had sandpapered the inside raw. Her neck and legs ached from sleeping on the couch. Not for the first time, she wished she’d stayed at Jaime’s. She’d fallen asleep staring up at his windows. In her less than sober state, she thought she saw him sitting in his chair keeping watch over her. She bit her lip as she stared at the menu, wondering what to order. The smell of bacon and eggs from the next table turned her stomach.

“Toast,” said Catelyn from the other side of the diner booth. Despite yesterday’s bathroom catastrophe, Catelyn had not a hair out of place. “And coffee. That will set you to rights. You can order something else after.”

Brienne rested her clammy forehead on her hand and stared at the menu. “I just don’t understand how you’re so…” She used her free hand to gesture limply at the older woman, who was elegant and perfectly put-together.

“Years of practice and years of children,” Catelyn said. “You’ve yet to have the joy of nursing two children through stomach flu while hung over. By comparison, this is a joy.”

As Brienne slowly sipped her coffee and nibbled on her toast, Catelyn talked about innocuous things — life at the agency, her daughter Arya’s success on the school’s hockey team, Bran’s continuing attempts to defy death via climbing, Rickon’s surprising success in science class and attachment to the family dog. By the time Brienne finished her toast, her stomach no longer felt abraded; it was just twisting with hunger.

She looked at the menu again. “I should have an egg white omelette —”

“Forget should. What do you actually want?” Catelyn asked.

Brienne chewed on her lower lip. “Waffles. And bacon. And hash browns,” she said. _That’s not very ladylike_ , she heard a voice say in her head, echoing from the past. _No man is going to want you if you eat like a pig_.

Catelyn leaned forward. “Brienne, you have earned the right to eat what you want,” she said. She must have seen something in Brienne’s face, because she added, “Women should not judge one another based on food.”

Once Brienne ordered, Catelyn leaned back and looked at her for a minute. “I’ve never known you to worry about other people judging you. It’s something I’ve always admired. What’s changed? Does Jaime criticize what you eat?”

Brienne laughed, then winced as the sound echoed painfully in her head. “The only criticism Jaime has of my eating habits is that I don’t eat at his place often enough.”

“So he’s possessive,” Catelyn said.

“No, he just misses me when I’m not there,” Brienne said.

The server slid the waffles in front of her. “I’m sorry, miss, but that man ordered all of the bacon and eggs we have,” she said, gesturing to the man at the next table. The heavily mustachioed man was indeed eating bacon and eggs; from the stack of empty plates on the table, he'd clearly gone through several pounds of bacon and a henhouse's worth of eggs. “Can I get you sausages instead?”

“Yes, please,” She poured an unhealthy amount of syrup on top.

“This relationship has moved rather quickly,” Catelyn said. “What happened to that other man you were dating? What was his name?”

Brienne couldn’t help but grin around a mouthful of hashbrowns, something she never thought she’d do when she thought of an ex. “The Asshole,” she said.

Catelyn raised a brow.

Brienne shrugged. “That’s what Jaime calls him. They’ve never even met, but Jaime hates him. It didn’t end well between us, as you can guess.” She smiled, recalling how Jaime had reacted when she’d first mentioned her ex and how unhappy he had made her. Jaime had been protective and jealous. A man had never been protective and jealous about her.

Catelyn pursed her lips. “I’m just concerned, Brienne. You seemed so unhappy last night.”

“Mother’s Eve — it brings up bad memories,” she said, attacking the waffles with her knife and fork. “Olenna is Jaime’s father’s girlfriend, and last night she asked if we were planning to have kids.”

“Are you?” Catelyn asked.

“No!” Brienne said. “But it’s not because of Jaime. I just — don’t think I want to have children.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I was going to offer you mine. I just got a text from Ned telling me that Arya was suspended for hitting some boy with an oar. An oar, Brienne. All the lakes and rivers around Winterfell are frozen. I don’t even know where she would have found an oar,” Catelyn said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She shook her head and went on, “So you’ve spent time with Jaime’s family?”

“Not yet,” Brienne said. “Tonight I’m meeting them all. He’s already warned me that his sister and his father are…difficult.”

“His father is a conniving, ruthless businessman whose practices fall barely within the letter of the law and left their spirit behind years ago,” Catelyn said forcefully. “Please don’t let me influence your feelings, though. You should make up your own mind about him.”

“Jaime’s not like that, Cat. He’s not the man you think he is. I’m more worried about his sister,” Brienne said, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her workout top. “From what I’ve heard, she’s very fashion conscious, and I’m…” She trailed off. “Oh gods. The only thing I have to wear is my funeral dress.”

“You mean that wrinkled black thing a septa would reject for being too modest and severe?”

Brienne nodded.

“Brienne, you need to find something else.”

Just the thought of dress shopping made Brienne’s stomach twist and threaten to toss up the waffles she’d just eaten. “Gods, no. The saleswomen all sneer at me and I…I just…”

Catelyn took her hand. “Go ask Margaery and Sansa for help. It’s the least they can do for you after you let them stay at your apartment. Sansa’s tall. She might have something you can wear.”

Brienne chewed on her lower lip, watching the man with the mustache devour the last of the bacon and eggs the restaurant had.

“Or you could cancel. I’m sure Jaime would understand,” Catelyn said. “And if he doesn’t he’s not the sort of man you want to be with anyway.”

“No, I can’t let Jaime down. He’s wanted to introduce me to his family for months,” Brienne said.

“Are you happy with him?”

Brienne smiled. “He knows me so well. A few weeks ago, I’d had a bad day and he made me my favorite, chicken with fruit salsa. He knows all my favorites. I don’t know how he does it.”

***

“Stop spying on your girlfriend,” Tyrion said into his mobile.

“I am not spying on Brienne,” Jaime said.

“Oh, so she’s gone out to breakfast, then?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime was silent for a moment. “Since you’re such an expert at predicting my actions, can you predict what gesture I’m making right now?” Jaime said.

“You’re not actually making a gesture because you’re holding the phone with one hand and the binoculars with another,” Tyrion said.

“Shut up,” Jaime responded.

“What a brilliant comeback,” Tyrion said. “But we’ve talked enough about you these past few decades. Let’s talk about me. Specifically, my date to the Warrior’s Eve dinner.”

“Your teaching assistant?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion looked around his office for a hidden camera. “Are you spying on _me_ now?”

“ _I_ ,” Jaime said, “am observant. You practically sprinted out the door to give her a ride home last night.”

“I sprinted out the door because you were kicking me out so I wouldn’t sully your precious girlfriend with my presence,” Tyrion said. He peeled back the flap of an intercampus mail envelope. “Did you talk her into staying over?”

“I watched her sleep,” Jaime said.

“Yes, you and creepy stalkers have absolutely nothing in common. And that doesn’t actually answer my question,” Tyrion said.

“Wait, now she's opening my gift.” Jaime paused. “Nailed it! She is so excited. I am the best Secret Stranger.”

“I thought she was out?”

“She is. I'm talking about Baker Wife. I got her pink silicone bakeware. Take that, Serial Killer.”

“I'm thinking about taking those binoculars away from you,” Tyrion mumbled, scanning the form and letter from Grant Management.

“What? Why?” Jaime asked.

“Because this has become your private reality show, only without the product placements,” Tyrion said. Gilly Craster was requesting a release of research funds for her essay on Winter's Seven. It seemed an unusual request. She hadn't needed to buy anything to complete the assignment. “You’re taking an unhealthy interest in your neighbors.”

“Did I tell you there’s something going on with the Three Bears?” Jaime asked. “Baby Bear has been there all week. She upset Uptight Bear the other night. It wasn't pretty. They were both grinding their teeth. I could practically hear it. Bearded Bear sent them off together. I didn't see them come back. Brienne had come over.” Jaime paused his narrative, “Bearded Bear is packing up some boxes. Looks like he got quite an order for Winter’s Seven. He’s going to struggle carrying those down the stairs.”

“Hmmm,” Tyrion responded, wondering if Jaime would even notice. He read Gilly's reason for release of funds, _To study the ritual of a Secret Stranger gift exchange._ Ah, well, if the girl needed money, Tyrion wouldn't deny her. At least it wasn't a request for release of funds to compare the various microbreweries in King's Landing. He'd validated that one too. He certainly wouldn't deny a college student the chance to drink on the college's stags. Gilly could certainly use some extra cash.

“Brienne got me these resistance bands for Warrior's Eve. It's like she really understands physical therapy. And she keeps insisting on giving things to me as a Secret Stranger, even though I know it’s her. She even disguises her handwriting on the cards,” Jaime said.

“I'm looking forward to meeting her tonight,” Tyrion answered, and he really was. The woman wasn't much to look at, but Jaime spoke of her as if she were the paragon of all things feminine and wonderful.

“And I look forward to meeting your human body shield,” Jaime said. “I hope you’re paying her extra.”

Tyrion slipped the request back into an envelope for Grant Management. “I only do that for the professionals, Jaime,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“First one to crack under Father’s gaze buys the drinks for Stranger’s Eve,” he said.

The call ended.

There was a tap on his door. Tysha stuck her head in. He grinned at her and beckoned her in.

“How’s your hangover after Mother’s Eve?” he asked. She’d been firmly on the tipsy side when he had given her a ride home last night.

Tysha smiled at him and stretched her neck. “Not as painful as student essays,” she said. “Although if you were planning to flash bright lights into my eyes while playing loud shrieking noises, let’s save that for another time.”

“I believe that’s part of the interrogation tactics Father has planned for tonight, but I’ll see if I can distract him,” Tyrion said. He tapped the interoffice envelope. “Gilly Craster?”

Tysha raised her brows.

“She cleans for my brother?”

Tysha nodded. “You're not supposed to know that though. She doesn't want any special favors.”

“Why not? Life is easier if you get special favors. I'm a Lannister. We know all about debt and favors. And cleaning up after my brother has to be its own special hell.”

“It’s not as bad as cleaning out the grease trap at Waffle House,” Tysha said. “She says he's nice, if a bit dense about things.”

Tyrion snorted. “I knew she was clever. Let her know I'll approve any research fund request she sends across my desk.” Gilly deserved at least that. “You'll meet him tonight. And my sister Cersei. Let me warn you about her.”

Tyrion's phone vibrated with a text. He ran his finger over the screen.

_“She's back and opening her presents. She loves my gift.”_

He swyped a response, _Stop spying on your girlfriend._

He looked back up at Tysha, remembering her smiling face at the Mother's Eve party. He felt only slightly guilty.

***

Normally Davos would carry the packages down the stairs all at once, but this was a very large order. He really needed to get cart of some sort. He was stacking the packages outside the stairwell when he heard voices from above and a steady thumping coming down the stairs. It was Walda and a red-haired woman, Sansa’s mother — Catelyn — dragging her suitcase behind her.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them as they reached the second floor landing. “How was the big Mother’s Eve party?”

“Lovely,” Walda answered at the exact same moment Catelyn said, “A toilet exploded.”

Walda sent a disapproving look towards the older woman, “It was lovely _until_ the toilet exploded.”

Davos looked between the two, wishing he’d left the house just a few minutes earlier.

“But at least it will give Sansa and Margaery a chance to redecorate their bathroom. I’ve been giving them some tips,” Walda continued.

Catelyn rolled her eyes and gave him a tight smile, “Yes, Walda has been giving Margaery and Sansa suggestions, but I asked her to walk me out.”

“And now I’m going to check out the damage to the ping-pong room,” Walda added. She looked slyly at Davos. “Have you been enjoying the Secret Stranger exchange? Has Stannis?”

Davos thought of the lovely biking gloves he’d gotten from his Stranger just that morning, then thought of Stannis. He saw his opportunity. “Well, Stannis has thoroughly enjoyed most of his gifts, Walda, although I think he’d like some cupcakes next time.”

Walda reached over to tap his arm, “You can’t fool me. You want cupcakes for _you_. Shireen told me Stannis only likes cookies.”

Davos suddenly wished he’d kept Shireen home last night. He and Stannis had managed to settle on some gifts for her, but if that meant Walda was going to keep giving Stannis cookies, he’d have to break his fat pants out of storage.

He forced a smile at Walda. “Oh, well,” Davos said as Catelyn caught his eye, “don’t let me hold you up. You do need to check out the ping-pong room.” He turned to Catelyn. “I was wondering if I could ask you a quick question?”

Catelyn shot him a grateful smile. “Of course.” She turned to Walda, “It was so nice meeting you and the cupcakes were lovely.”

Walda beamed, “Thank you.” She reached over to give Catelyn a hug, which Catelyn accepted awkwardly. “And be sure to let Sansa know I’m happy to help her pick out her colors. She just needs to learn the value of a neutral.”

Catelyn nodded and smiled, “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

And with a whiff of cake, Walda was down the stairs.

Catelyn waited until they heard her reach the bottom of the stairs before she turned to him. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “Walda can be a bit much.” He held out his hand, “Davos Seaworth. Thank you so much for letting Shireen crash your party last night.”

Catelyn took his hand in a firm grip. “She’s a lovely girl. So well-mannered and precise.”

Davos grinned, “That’s her father.”

“My youngest is all — well, Arya and Sansa couldn’t be more different.”

Davos nodded in sympathy and then had an idea. “Say, you might be able to help me out.”

She looked dubiously at his stack of boxes.

He laughed. “No, not with that. I’ve been trying to find a nice resort where I can take Stannis, and possibly Shireen, for a little vacation. Any good suggestions?”

“You want a resort that’s relaxing for you, but will still have activities to keep your daughter entertained?”

Davos nodded. “Exactly.”

Catelyn pulled out her phone, “Yes, let me pull this up —”

Davos was suddenly glad he’d met the ladies on the stairs after all.

***

Sansa and Margaery looked at the remnants of their bathroom despondently. “At least the insurance will pay for it. And the damage to the ping-pong room,” Margaery said.

Sansa’s fists clenched. “If Walda says one more time that it’s a great opportunity for us to re-do the bathroom in a soothing neutral color scheme I’m going to stuff that cookie dough right up her —”

“At least your mother got her out of here,” Margaery said. “Walda won’t get any say in the matter.” _And neither will we_ , she thought to herself. The apartment was owned by Grandmother, after all, and Grandmother would be the one picking out any new tile and fixtures.

“How long did the contractor say it would take to fix?” Sansa asked.

“Well, Stranger’s Eve is coming up. Even with Grandmother’s…”

“Influence?” Sansa asked.

“I was going to say ‘fat wads of cash,’ but influence is such a lovely way to phrase it,” Margaery said. “Even with that, it will be two weeks before we can use our bathroom again.”

“Two weeks!” Sansa slumped against the wall. “Where are we supposed to stay?”

“Grandmother has offered to put us up,” Margaery said. When she saw Sansa’s horrified look, she said, “Which I agree is a last resort. I’m sure Brienne will let us stay until the semester ends on Monday.” She pulled Sansa down the hall toward the bedroom, so her girlfriend didn’t have to stare into the hellmouth formerly known as their bathroom. “And then after that — well, I hear hotel rooms are lovely this time of year,” she said, sliding her hand down Sansa’s arm.

“But how are we going to pay for that?” Sansa said.

“I’ve been cycling my tuition payments through my credit cards just to build up points. Do you know how many hotel points I have?” she asked.

“Enough to stay at the Super 8 for a week?” Sansa asked.

“Enough to buy out thirty-nine rooms at the Super 8 for the week,” Margaery corrected. “But I was thinking more along the lines of — oh, never mind, that would give away your Stranger’s Eve present.”

Sansa’s face lit up. “What did you get me?”

“I thought we were supposed to keep it a secret?” Margaery said teasingly, turning toward the bedroom.

“Well, I know one way to get it out of you,” Sansa said, grabbing Margaery’s hand and pulling her closer. Margaery prepared for a kiss.

The doorbell rang.

“I swear I’m going to have the contractor disconnect that thing,” Margaery said through clenched teeth. She and Sansa walked out into the living room to find out who had interrupted them this time.

It was Brienne. “I need help,” she said, looking miserable and desperate

“Did something happen?” Sansa said, clearly primed for an emergency. “Did your toilet explode too?”

Brienne stammered out an answer. “I...the Warrior's Eve dinner with Jaime's father. I think I'm supposed to wear a dress. I have one dress. My funeral dress, but somehow that seems wrong to wear. So, you both always look so nice, I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me. Find a dress.”

Margaery smiled. “Why don't you come on in, Brienne? Sansa and I have plenty of dresses in our closets. I’m sure we can find something suitable, and I know I’m happy to let you try on every single dress I have and give you an opinion. I can help you zip up, zip down, whichever you need.” She reached for Brienne's hand.

Sansa gave Margaery a look. “Don’t you think your skirts will be a little short on Brienne?” she asked.

Margaery shrugged innocently. “I’m sure Brienne has great legs,” she said.

“I think I need something…a little more…modest,” Brienne said.

“Oh, just try on everything I have. I’m sure there’s something here that fits the bill,” Margaery said.

“In your closet?” Sansa asked skeptically. “I think we need to go shopping.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want this to become a big production,” Brienne said. “Isn’t there something quick?”

“Repairing our bathroom is a big production. Shopping is fun,” Margaery said, grabbing her handbag off the end table. “And we’ll find a way to make it quick.”

Brienne face relaxed into relief. “I thought I was going to have to ask Walda. And you know how she feels. About ruffles. And florals. And pink.”

Sansa eyes narrowed at the mention of Walda Bolton. “We're happy to take you shopping. No one should be subjected to Walda Bolton's taste in anything.”

Margaery pulled on her coat. “This is going to be far more fun than staring at the ruins of our bathroom. If we don’t find anything after the first forty dresses we’ll take a break for mimosas.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. Brienne shuddered.

***

After the third shop, Brienne was ready to just buy something to make it end. “Don’t they make skirts any longer?” she asked helplessly.

“The only way we can find a longer skirt is if we go to a Seven supply store for a septa’s habit,” Margaery said, with a bit of an edge to her voice. “You have lovely legs, Brienne. Surely you can wear something that comes to just above the knee to show them off.”

 _Your legs look like a man’s,_ that critical voice in her head said. _No man wants to look at legs that are more muscular than his._ And now thanks to the leg weights Gilly had gotten her for Warrior’s Eve, they were going to be even bigger. Brienne should have made Gilly return the expensive gift, but she really did need new ones. The Velcro on the old ones was worn.

What wasn't terribly expensive was her latest gift from Jaime. She blushed. Then she thought about their dinner and her hands clenched. “I need it to come below the knee. Just…something,” she said.

“I think I found _the one_ ,” Sansa said.

“That makes thirty-nine dresses,” Margaery said. “One more dress and we’re taking a mimosa break.”

“I still have to leave that curling championship DVD for my Secret Stranger target. I haven’t even _wrapped_ it yet,” Sansa said in horrified tones.

Sansa’s delicate hand appeared over the door, lowering a dress into the dressing room. Brienne gave it a look. It was blue; it had long sleeves and a turtleneck. There was a keyhole cutout on the chest, but at least it wasn't a deep-V showing off the cleavage she didn’t have. Brienne slipped it on. The skirt was narrow but had a hidden slit up the side that would allow her to move. Brienne looked in the mirror. It wasn't the worst thing she'd tried on. She would at least be able to wear a bra. She bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t wear a bra. It wasn’t as if she needed it. And going braless was adventurous, wasn’t it?

“Need any help, Brienne? Want me to join you in there?” Margaery asked.

Instead of responding, Brienne opened the door and stepped out.

Sansa's mouth formed a little “o” and Margaery caught her breath. “It's perfect,” Margaery whispered reverently.

Sansa swallowed. “Now we just need to find you something to go under it.”

Brienne felt the flush inching up her skin, glad that her neck was covered in material. “No, I ...uhm...have that covered.”

Margaery smirked. Sansa shot her a look.

“Do you need any help with your zipper?” Sansa asked.

Margaery glared. Sansa looked back at her and shrugged.

“I can get it myself, thanks,” Brienne answered and she slipped back into the changing room. Thank gods she'd found something.

“Basic black ballet flats, I think,” Sansa said from outside the dressing room. “Something simple.”

“Or maybe boots. Black. Thigh high,” Margaery suggested. “Do you have anything like that?”

Brienne took a deep breath as she pulled the dress over her head. She’d been chewing on the question for days, and she needed an outside perspective. If she couldn’t ask them, who could she ask? “Have you ever…how do you…” The dress was still over her head. She couldn’t risk glancing at herself in the mirror until she got the question out. “If your partner is hinting that he’s bored with your sex life, what do you do?”

***

Stannis stood on the beachfront in his winter coat, flip-flops and swim trunks in the weak winter sun, staring out onto Blackwater Bay and shivering. The ice swim would begin the moment the sun touched the horizon. They would be in and out of the water in moments. He repeated it to himself again, _in and out of the water in moments._

Shireen reached up and put her hand in his. “This is going to be fun, Daddy,” she said.

He looked down at her. “You are not to take your coat off until they sound the horn. You are to put it on again immediately after getting out of the water.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said. “Ooooo, look at the costumes! Why are you wearing that helmet?” she said, looking up at the young man to her right.

The young man drew himself up, sucking in his gut and puffing out his chest. “It’s the traditional headgear of the followers of the Drowned God,” he said, adjusting the horned helmet on his head.

A woman next to Stannis laughed. “No, it’s not,” she said. The woman’s arms, stomach and thighs were all heavily tattooed, and she wore nothing but a leopard print string bikini. She didn’t seem to be feeling the cold at all.

Shireen pointed at the tattoo on the young woman’s calf. “That’s cool,” she said. “What is it?”

“That’s my battle-axe. Tribute to my ancestors,” she said. “This’ll be good for you, kid. Make you strong.” She held out her fist to Shireen, who bumped it with her own.

The woman turned to Stannis. “Don’t worry about her. First time I did this I was a baby and my mom carried me into the water. She’ll be fine. You, on the other hand…” She eyed him up and down. “Had your heart checked recently?”

“My heart is in perfect condition,” Stannis said, standing up straighter and, with a surprising amount of difficulty, sucking in his own stomach.

“Yeah, well, first off, the reason we scream as we run down to the water is to get all the air out, ‘cause once that cold water hits you you’ll feel like you can’t breathe. If you let it all out first it makes it easier to inhale. Both of you, run into the water. Don’t walk or you’re gonna be like those pus — er, those fraidy-cat frat boys there.” She gestured with her chin to the young men in the helmets, who were now bellowing. “They’ll get in to their knees, run back out and freak out that what their mamas gave them ain’t gonna come crawling back out again.”

Shireen tugged on Stannis’s hand. “Daddy, what did their mamas give them?”

At that moment, the horn blew, saving Stannis from having to answer.

Beside him, the young woman in the bikini let out a full-throated howl, as did the people beside them. He and Shireen quickly threw off their coats and their flip-flops and raced with the front line of the crowd toward the water. He heard Shireen’s high, piping voice howling along with the followers of the Drowned God, but he refused to lose his dignity in such a manner. The moment the water touched his legs, he lost all feeling in them. His lungs felt like they’d stopped working. He started to slow down.

“No, Daddy, no!” Shireen shouted, pulling on his arm. “You have to go in. You have to go all the way in.”

He moved forward, letting go of Shireen’s hand as he passed her, the water to his waist. He threw himself forward, toes and fingers screaming as he submerged himself up to his neck. He could feel his testicles climbing so far into his body that he was concerned they might never come back down. He was relieved the cold had taken away his ability to speak, or he might have screamed.

In front of him, the woman in the bikini cackled and whooped. “What is dead may never die!” she shouted triumphantly, raising her arms over her head. All around her, other worshippers echoed the sentiment.

Stannis looked back toward Shireen, terrified for a moment that she was drowning. But she was cheering too. Behind her, the men in the horned helmets and other non-initiates were racing away from the icy water.

Stannis took one breath, then another. He felt more energized by the moment. In fact, he hadn’t felt so alive in years.

A minute later, they were climbing out of the water. Shireen was jumping up and down. “Daddy, that was a-ma-zing!” she said as she took a towel from one of the volunteers and began drying off. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

“Quite refreshing,” Stannis said, nodding. The level of endorphins he was experiencing was similar to those he’d felt after running his first marathon.

Behind them, the tattooed woman meandered up the beach, towel in hand. “Dudes, you let a ten-year-old girl show you up,” she said to the men in the helmets, who hung their heads in shame.

She sauntered up to Stannis and Shireen. “Hey, you two have guts,” she said with a grin. “There’s a sauna for Drowned God followers up the road. You two want to be my guests? I promise things won’t get too rowdy while you’re there,” she said.

“Oh, Daddy, can we?” Shireen said.

Stannis looked down at his daughter and smiled.

***

Roose stared at the items littering Robert’s doorstep. There was the six-pack of beer he’d left on Monday, the book on beer he’d left on Tuesday, the wine he’d left on Wednesday, plus two boxes from Amazon. It was clear that Robert had not been home in some time. He considered leaving the Beer Belly — a tool for sneaking beer into a sports stadium, the closest that Robert was likely to get to any sporting activity — on the doorstep, then decided against it. He looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was watching and there were no security cameras. Then he lowered himself to his hands and knees, nose to the floor and inhaled, trying to catch even the faintest whiff of human decomposition. There was none, only the smell of sweaty socks and cheap perfume. Robert Baratheon might be dead, but if so, he wasn’t rotting in his own apartment. Roose was relieved. The cleanup would have been terrible.

His own Secret Stranger had left a DVD compilation of highlights from the past twenty years of the World Curling Championship. He would have to thank that Gilly girl at the Stranger’s Eve party.

When he walked in his front door, Walda was clad in her new apron and singing along to the theme to “Happiness With Hot Pie.” The apartment, as usual, smelled of fresh baked goods. “Oh, Roose, you’re going to be so happy!” she glowed, coming around the kitchen island to kiss him and take his coat. “You’ll never believe what I baked today! I made prune cake!” She gestured to a cake cooling on the counter as if she were a hostess on a game show revealing a new car.

Roose felt a brief moment of pleasure, followed by suspicion. “Prune cake. You had said you would never cook it again because the residue ruined your baking dish,” he said.

“I know,” Walda said breathlessly. “But then…” She held up something hot pink and floppy and her voice went into a sing-song. “I got silicon bakeware from my Secret Stranger!” She winked broadly when she said the last two words.

Walda had circled that exact silicon bakeware in the Wylla-Sonoma catalog, and Roose had been planning to buy it as part of her Stranger’s Eve present. He breathed in and out calmly, his mind working furiously.

“It’s a present for both of us,” Walda said. “I get to bake you your favorite cake, and you get to _eat_ your favorite cake.” She handed him a slice and a fork, and they sat down at the table.

“Mmmm,” Roose said. Perhaps it was time to acquire a pet that he could also use as a food tester, just in case.

“Oh, pooh!” said Walda, looking out the window. “There go Jaime and Brienne. I need to talk to Jaime and see if we can use his loft for the holiday party. It’s the only one with enough room.”

“I thought it was being held in the ping-pong room?” Roose asked, digging a fork into the cake.

“It _was_. But it flooded when Sansa and Margaery’s toilet exploded last night,” Walda said.

It took all the training Roose had not to pause as his fork moved toward his mouth. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Yes, while the strip — er, one of the girls was in there. That’s why I was sopping wet last night, Roosie. It’s going to take weeks to fix.”

Roose chewed his cake harder than was strictly necessary. The explosion of the toilet couldn’t just be coincidence. It wouldn’t be the first time a toilet was involved in an assassination in Westeros. It had to be a warning. But a warning from whom?

“And I’m sure Sansa is just going to be too overextended with repairing her bathroom to manage the Stranger’s Eve party. I’m just going to take it off her hands and give her one less thing to worry about,” Walda said.

“The cake is delicious,” Roose said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I believe you said you had some Winter’s Seven decorations you wanted me to hang in the hallway?”

“Oh, Roose!” Walda’s hands clutched together at her enormous bosom and her eyes went wide; it was exactly the way she’d looked at him the first time she saw him naked. “But I thought you said you didn’t want to upset Stannis?”

He took her hand. “I’ve given it careful consideration. It’s clearly important to you,” he said.

“But you mean…just a few?” she asked.

“As many as you want,” he said. The more she set out, the more places he’d have to hide the Wi-Fi cameras he planned to use to surveil their hallway, their doorway and the stairwell. He needed to get Walda out of the house for a few hours so he could make a thorough sweep of their apartment for listening devices as well as check all of the air conditioning vents for hidden cameras. Within the next thirty-nine hours, he would identify the threat.

***

After they got Brienne made up and out the door, Sansa looked at Margaery, who probably for the first time in her life had the grace to blush. “Why would Brienne think Jaime is unhappy with their sex life?”

Margaery cleared her throat. “Well, if she thinks Jaime is her Secret Stranger, which apparently she does…”

“And you’re her Secret Stranger?” Sansa grinned.

“Come on, you know I’ve wanted to see her in thigh-highs and a garter belt since the moment I met her!” Margaery said.

Sansa tilted her head. “After today I see your point.” For a moment, they both stared into space wistfully, thinking of Brienne’s legs. “So because of what you’ve given her, she thinks that Jaime is hinting he wants to get wild in bed. What did you get her for today?”

“Remember what we found in Loras's suitcase?” Margaery grinned. "But in pink."

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “Tacky.”

Margaery smiled. “But fun! And I’m really excited for what I got her for the Smith’s Day.”

***

Davos was researching the resorts Catelyn had mentioned when he got a message from Sal.

_RE: Your Stranger’s Eve surprise — early_

_I know you were looking for a little romantic getaway. We had one cabin left to fill on our gay cruise to Lys and I got it for you for a steal. I know you’re good for the non-refundable deposit and after all, I know where you live._

Davos put his head in his hands. He’d asked Sal to look out for a romantic getaway last week; he’d been too busy to tell him that they were now a family of three. He couldn’t afford a family getaway _and_ the deposit.

He heard Stannis and Shireen coming up the stairs. Before they arrived, he’d hidden his laptop and plastered a welcoming smile on his face.

***

“Before we arrive, let me explain about my father so you can prepare yourself,” Tyrion said, tapping his hands on the steering wheel as they waited at the red light.

“I’m assuming he’s very smart,” Tysha said.

“Yes. Smart. Humorless. I’m told that my mother could occasionally make him smile, but I can’t remember myself — she died when I was in kindergarten. He’s also ruthless and controlling. Did you give Olenna your last name at the party?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes,” Tysha said slowly.

“Then we can expect he’s already run the background check. Do you have any felonies I should be aware of? Family scandals? Has your credit rating fallen below 700 in the past 10 years?”

“No, not unless you count bad Yelp reviews, and yes, about nine years ago when I was working at my father’s restaurant,” she said. “But I rebuilt it and it’s been excellent since.”

“Hmm. Expect some questions about that. And possibly about the Yelp reviews,” Tyrion added. “My father believes himself to be the smartest man in the room and will make cutting comments to put people who disagree with him in their place.”

“So that’s where you get it from,” said Tysha.

***

Jaime was having trouble thinking. The conversation flowed around him, helped along greatly by Tyrion’s date, Tysha. She and Tyrion were discussing the finer points of Warrior’s Eve, debating over just when the emphasis had turned from combat to sports. His father was glaring, probably because they’d found a topic that was too far out of his area of expertise to allow him to bludgeon them with his wisdom. Olenna was sipping at her second glass of wine, smiling to herself. But it was Brienne who held his interest. Other than the Wench costume, he'd never seen her in a dress. He'd certainly never seen her in a dress this short. There were other women in the restaurant with skirts that barely covered their bottoms, but none of them were as sexy as Brienne. And there was something oddly tantalizing about the slit in the skirt, but he couldn’t quite make it out —

“Jaime,” Tywin said sharply, his tone indicating that it was not the first time he’d said it. He dragged his attention to his father, who asked, “Cersei left a message stating only that she would be away for Winter’s Seven and for several weeks thereafter. Do you know where your sister has gone?”

Jaime shrugged. “She stopped speaking to me a few weeks before I hurt my leg. I haven't talked to her in months.” He raised an eyebrow at Tyrion, who shrugged. Brienne fidgeted beside him, and he was distracted again as her knee brushed his.

“She knows how I feel about family and tradition. We always have Warrior's Eve dinner. _Always_.” His father narrowed his eyes, as if Jaime were at fault for Cersei’s absence.

“Did you call her?” Jaime asked.

That resulted in a pale glare from his father. “She has not seen fit to respond.”

Jaime looked around the table for help and finally slid his eyes to Olenna. She sighed and turned to his father. “Whatever it is, it must be important. Cersei, of all your children, knows the importance of family.”

Tyrion caught Jaime’s eye and lifted his wineglass and mouthed, “To family.”

Jaime tipped his glass as well.

“So long as she is back for our Stranger’s Eve dinner,” his father said, folding his arms. He looked at Jaime. “That is, if you haven’t been too distracted to prepare for it.”

“It’s a dinner party, not the Battle of Blackwater Bay,” Jaime said. “I’m still slow on my feet but I’m sure Brienne can help in the kitchen.” _Help plate the food I buy from the caterers,_ he thought.

His father turned his attention to Brienne like a lion stalking its prey. He could feel her tense up beside him. “Ms. Tarth. Rather than spending these holidays with your family, you’ve chosen to remain here in King’s Landing. Jaime has told me that you work from home.” Those last two words dripped with disdain. “What made you choose to remain here, given your flexibility? Do your family not follow the Seven?”

“No, uh, we do,” Brienne said. He watched the blush spreading across her cheeks. “My…uh…my parents travel a lot.” She reached for her water glass and took a sip.

“They do?” his father asked. “Are they military?”

“Um, no,” she said. Jaime could see her hands winding around each other under the table. “It’s — um, work. They divorced when I was young. I mostly grew up with my father, though I spent…time with my mother,” she said. She looked like a cornered deer.

Jaime stared at her. He hadn’t know that. She’d never mentioned it. He was certain she had a close, warm, loving family.

His father narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. And what do you parents do?”

She glanced at Jaime. “My father, he’s a sales director for Sapphire Isle Seafaring. He does a lot of traveling. My mother...is an entrepreneur. She’s had a series of businesses.” She blushed again. Jaime wondered what sort of businesses her mother ran, then realized his father was thinking the exact same thing. He immediately decided it didn’t matter.

“And do you have an extended family? Siblings?” Tywin leaned forward over his plate. He jerked and cleared his throat, sliding his eyes towards Olenna before looking back at Brienne.

Brienne’s bright blue eyes were wide. “I…yes.” Her arms wrapped around herself. “Not on my father’s side. It’s just me, but my mother has — a lot of other daughters.” Her shoulders pulled in even tighter when she said it. Jaime wondered what it had been like to grow up raised the only daughter of her father, while her mother cared for her sisters. He imagined Brienne and her father had been close.

Tywin narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “And you do not spend the holidays with them?”

Brienne bit her lip and looked down at her plate.

“Oh, gosh,” Tysha said out of nowhere, her rural accent just a little more heightened than Jaime had previously noticed. “I guess it’s different when you don’t have divorced parents. My ma’s parents are divorced and anytime we choose to spend one of Winter’s Seven with one of my grandparents the other one would get all het up. We tried having them both over for Stranger’s Eve one year, but you can imagine how _that_ went down.” She smiled at Brienne. “I’d rather stay in King’s Landing and avoid all the drama.”

Brienne smiled back wanly.

“Yes, it could be preferable to sign on to be a Crow in the far North in order to avoid family drama,” Jaime said, looking meaningfully at his father.

Tywin glanced at Jaime and then glared at Brienne before leveling his attention on Tysha. “I’ve also heard a great deal about your father. I hear he runs a…’Waffle House’?” Tywin spoke as if the name of the chain was a foreign language.

“You bet!” Tysha said with a scary amount of enthusiasm. “You want it scattered, peppered or smothered, he’s got you covered. You know that the margins on a Waffle House often top twenty percent, right? I assume you are an investor?”

Suddenly, Tysha had Tywin’s full attention.

Olenna smiled at Brienne. “So dear, how goes the Secret Stranger event? Have you enjoyed your gifts? Have you gotten anything particularly special?

Jaime turned to her and smiled. “Socks for Brienne’s long legs are hard to find, but I heard that she received something that was a perfect fit,” he said.

Brienne turned an even brighter red. “Yes, they were very nice,” she said.

“Olenna, were you aware of the profit margins related to breakfast food?” his father said imperiously, tapping her hand. She turned.

He heard Brienne inhale sharply beside him and then she bumped his knee twice. That had to be intentional. He looked at her. She glanced up at him and bit her lip, then looked down toward their laps. He followed her eyes and glanced down at her skirt. Her hand fisted into the blue material, and she slowly dragged it over, opening the slit up…and up…and up. As the skirt crept up, he saw a darker band of nylons around her muscular thigh…then lace…then garters…and then bare skin. _Dear gods, she was wearing sexy lingerie._ And she was showing him. Here. At the dinner table. He glanced up again to see her wide sapphire eyes, framed with thick darkened lashes, staring at him. Jaime coughed as he sucked in a breath.

He grabbed Brienne’s wrist and stood up, thanking the Warrior, the Father and the Smith that his jacket covered his crotch. “We have to go. There’s been another plumbing incident back at our condo complex.” He threaded his fingers in hers and pulled her up.

Olenna plonked down her wineglass. “This is what happens when you go with the lowest bidder.” She turned to his father, her lips forming a harsh smile. “Come to think of it, that was Casterly Rock Construction, wasn’t it?”

“Jaime, how would you know?” asked Tyrion.

Jaime pulled out his phone. His battery ran out an hour ago, but who would know? “Text message,” he said, glancing at the dead screen. “From Gilly.” He put the phone in his pocket and fumbled with his crutch. “Brienne and I have to go. Now.”

“Jaime…” Brienne said.

He turned to her and all he could think of was throwing her on the table and running his hands up her thighs to find out what else, if anything, she was wearing underneath that dress. He adjusted his crutch under his arm.

“Jaime.” His father’s voice was sharp. Jaime pulled his attention away from Brienne.

Olenna gave Tywin a look that would have dissolved a lesser man. “If there’s yet another shoddy construction issue at the Kingsgate Arms, Jaime needs to go and investigate. I’m considering filing suit against the plumbing contractor.”

He should have felt bad for possibly torpedoing his father’s relationship and leaving Tyrion to face his father’s wrath alone. He didn’t. The only thing he could think of was getting Brienne out of there and to a private place where he could get her dress off.

She’d climbed into the driver’s seat of his sportscar and he’d quickly gotten into the passenger’s side. She’d just started the car and put it in gear when he slid his hand up her thigh and into the conveniently-placed slit, rubbing his thumb on the bare skin of her leg. The parking lot was empty enough.

Brienne looked at him, wide-eyed. “I can’t concentrate on driving if you do that,” she said. But he could see her chest heave, so much that the keyhole in the bodice showed _that_ freckle. She put her hand on the gear shift, sliding it up and down, twining her fingers around the top.

“Do you think I can concentrate when you run your hand over the gear shift like that?” he asked. He leaned over and kissed her. She kissed back. She was driving him wild. He rolled over on to her more, and more —

The car horn honked. Jaime jerked up and slammed his head against the roof of the car. “Aaaagh,” he said, rubbing his head.

“I’d rather not damage you. Or your car, which is far more valuable,” Brienne said. Her words were crisp and her cheeks red, but her eyes were dark with desire. “Perhaps we should wait until we get to your place.”

He settled back into his seat and grinned at her. “Only if you hike up your skirt a little at every stop light,” he said. She met his eyes and nodded. She put the car in gear.

By the time they got halfway home, he could see the lace at the top of her stocking. Watching the muscles flex in her thigh as she shifted gears was about driving him mad. “Just let me lay my hand on your leg. I promise not to move it,” he said, reaching out to run one finger over her garter.

She slapped his hand and shot him a glare. “Yes, you will. Don’t make me use the Warrior’s Eve gift.”

“Warrior's Eve gift?” he asked, already curious.

She blushed again. “In my purse.”

His eyes had already drifted to her stocking tops. His hands itched. “Your purse?”

“By your feet,” she said, biting her lip.

He wanted to bite her lip. He reached down and found her purse. It was refreshingly small, and it was easy to find the gift. He dangled the pink, fuzzy handcuffs from his finger. “Are you telling me to restrain myself?” he asked with a naughty grin.

“Only for three more blocks,” she said, taking the curve so hard he was forced to lean into the turn.

By the time they got into the elevator, his brain was exploding. He had the handcuffs in one hand and her thigh in the other. Gods knew where his crutch had gone and he really didn’t care. He was intent on finding out what lay at the top of that garter.

“Jaime,” she said, pushing his hand down. “This is a public place. I’m sure there are security cameras in here.”

“My elevator. My security cameras,” he said, snapping one of the pink fuzzy handcuffs around her wrist so he could pull her arm away. “Maybe it’s time to make a sex tape.”

He heard her gasp as he tugged down the collar of her dress, trying to find more skin to taste.

“You’d want to…watch —” she asked.

“Gods, yes, Brienne, just looking at you makes me lose control,” he said against her skin. She wound her fingers in his hair.

With a loud ping, elevator doors opened. He bookmarked the elevator sex tape as an idea for another time and dragged her to the door by the handcuff. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, then finally got it open. They stumbled inside and he shoved her against the door, wrapping his arm around her and tugging down the zipper that ran along her back.

He felt metal wrapped in hot pink fur snap around his wrist. “I can control you,” she said, holding her wrist up and bringing his with it.

Maiden, Mother and Crone, he didn’t think he could be any more turned on and yet he was. He pressed himself into her and started to slide his uncuffed hand up her skirt. She pulled it away with her free hand and began pulling his shirt off with the other. He gasped as she found _that_ spot, the one just above his hip. He used the handcuffs to pull her arm away. “You can’t get the better of me. I’m strong enough.”

“So you think,” she said, pulling her handcuffed hand down to wrap around his waist — and then slide over his ass.

Damn his leg. He’d take her up against the door right now if he thought his knee wouldn’t buckle. He slipped his good leg between hers. She pulled back slightly and started to slide her other hand down the front of his pants before he grabbed it. “Did I say you could do that?” he admonished.

“Do you think you can stop me?” she challenged.

He was so turned on he felt like he might stop breathing if he didn’t have her soon. He was about to drag her down to the floor when there was a knock at the door. Brienne stilled. He took advantage and slid his free hand up her dress and onto her hip, tugging at the satiny material he found there. The knocking continued.

A voice called through the door, “Jaime? Mr. Lannister? It’s Walda, from across the way. I know you’re there. I saw you come in. I’ll wait just a minute for you to get the door since I know your leg is bothering you.”

He looked at Brienne. She lifted their joined wrists. He mouthed “Key?”

She responded, mouthing, “My purse?” and raised her brows.

He bit his lip and mouthed, “In the car.”

Walda called again, “Are you all right? Should I call emergency services?”

He turned away from the door and hoped it would sound like he was in the other room. “Almost there. Give me a second.” He adjusted his jacket to make sure he was properly covered.

He looked at Brienne. _She looks as if Walda caught us fucking._ He mouthed, “Just stay here.” He stepped to his right and opened the door a crack to look at Baker Wife, who tried to step inside.

“Walda, Mrs. Bolton. How are you this evening?” Jaime angled himself so that his cuffed hand remained on the door knob. Brienne silently slid down to the floor, keeping her cuffed arm raised above her head, bracing her back against the door to ensure Walda couldn’t push her way in.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Stranger’s Eve party,” Walda said. “Can I come in for a minute?”

Jaime rested the forearm of his free hand along the doorjamb and leaned against it, trying to look as disreputable as possible. “Sorry, the place is a mess. Can we make it quick? I need to rest up for my physical therapy appointment tomorrow.”

Walda pursed her lips. “As you may have heard, there’s been an incident in the ping-pong room.”

“It’s the ping-pong room now?” Jaime needed her to shut up and go away. “I knew the girls had a problem with their toilet.” He tossed his head in that direction.

“Their unit is _above_ the ping-pong room,” Walda said impatiently. “I don’t think we’ll be able to hold the Stranger’s Eve party there.”

“Of course not.” He glanced down at Brienne. She’d buried her head into her knees. He could see her back, fully exposed as he’d gotten the zipper of her dress down. There was something distinctly missing as he looked at her completely bare back. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Walda had to go.

“I was wondering if we could perhaps hold the party here?” Walda suggested.

Brienne looked up at him, eyes wide, and bit her lip.

He looked back at Walda. “Sounds wonderful. Just tell me what you need — tomorrow. Right now it’s urgent that I rest up for my physical therapy appointment.” Before she could say another word, Jaime slammed the door in her face and joined Brienne on the floor.

***

Sam gleefully read the note from Gilly.

_Dear Crow,_

_I got a lovely bag for Mother’s Eve. I'm certain it was from Brienne and Jaime and not my Secret Stranger. Brienne and Jaime, did I tell you about them? Jaime is one of the beautiful people. Money, good looks, all of that_.

Sam felt a twinge of jealousy.

_I clean for him a couple of times each week. He was injured is some coffee table accident. I can't even imagine._

Sam could imagine it. Furniture could be dangerous.

_I rent my room in KL from Brienne. She is not one of the beautiful people, but she's kind and honest and true and I think that matters more than anything else. I think it matters more to Jaime too. He just likes looking at her, all the time. I like them together._

The tension left Sam's shoulders.

_We had a Mother's Eve party. It was nice. I miss my sisters though. Some of them are already mothers. I'd like to be a mother one day. How about you, Crow? Do you want children?_

_Thinking of you,_

_Gilly_  

Sam felt a warm bloom in his chest, thinking of holding a baby close. A little baby with fat little cheeks. One he could encourage to be whatever they wanted to be, a warrior, a Crow, a doctor, a lawyer and Wilding tribe chief.

Then he heard the barking dogs at Craster's and froze. He had almost screwed up his courage when he heard a noise behind him. It was an older woman heading up the walk, a baby in one arm. She smiled at him. “Got a package for Dad?” She tilted her head towards the house. “I'll take it for you so the dogs don't bite your hand off.”

The tension left Sam's shoulders. “I think I have a letter too. From someone named Gilly?”

The woman smiled at him, almost a motherly smile. “Gilly's one of my younger sisters. Took herself off to King's Landing for an education. Right proud of her, we are. She's always been clever.”

Sam caught his breath, thinking of a way to keep the woman talking about Gilly. “She uhm, sometimes, she — writes notes,” he started, trying to keep the stammer from his voice. “To me. I mean to the crows that carry her letters. She seems very nice.”

The woman nodded. “That she is, although a bit lonely. Made some friends in her condominium complex and a few friends at school, but no one special. Choosy girl, that Gilly.”

Sam's heart sunk just a little. “Choosy, you say? About...boyfriends?”

“Doesn't want to just date. Wants a real boyfriend. Someone who will be kind to her and listen to her and make her feel important. I tell her there's no such men as that.” The woman shook her head as if in amazement and held out her hand. “I'll be taking me dad's mail now.”

He handed over the package and letters, thinking he could be kind and listen and she was already important, whether she knew it or not. “You have a good evening.” He smiled at her, wanting Gilly's sister to like him.

“May the faces in the trees watch over you,” she replied.

 _There were faces? In the trees?_ Sam shuddered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, our love and affection for CommaSplice. Without her, this collaboration never would have happened.
> 
> Parks and Rec fans: yes, that was Ron Swanson at the diner. That and the waffles are a little tribute to our dearly departed show.


	6. Smith's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith's Eve has arrived for the residents of the Kingsgate Arms. Who is sneaking up the stairs? What happened to Roose's surveillance equipment? Why does Gilly find the mail so upsetting? Will Tyrion ever get his essays graded? Has someone broken into Jaime's apartment? Will Sam fall on his face? And what would Davos do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A QUICK REFRESHER ON WHO'S WHO IN THE SECRET STRANGER GAME
> 
> Davos gifts Jaime  
> Jaime gifts Walda  
> Walda gifts Stannis  
> Stannis gifts Sansa  
> Sansa gifts Roose  
> Roose gifts Robert  
> Robert gifts Gilly (except he never does)  
> Gilly gifts Margaery  
> Margaery gifts Brienne  
> Brienne gifts Davos

Brienne looked over at the clock; it was one thirty-nine a.m. She needed to get home. She looked over at Jaime, still asleep beside her. She would feel bad if she woke him up, but the thought of leaving without saying goodbye seemed wrong too. She bit her lip and decided to just jostle him as she got up; that way he would wake but she wouldn’t seem to have deliberately disturbed him. She shifted roughly in the bed and swung her leg off the side.

Jaime rolled over towards her and opened one eye. “Where are you going?” he mumbled and yawned, the golden hair splayed around his head making him look like a lazy lion.

“I should get back home,” she said, finding the floor with one foot.

Faster than she would have thought possible, Jaime’s arm was wrapped around her waist and he was dragging her back towards the center of the bed. “No,” he said as he closed his eyes and settled in to sleep.

She tugged at his wrist, “Sansa and Margaery are staying with me. I really need to go.”

He opened one eye again, “Your couch is too short and your legs will get all crampy from sleeping on it. Stay.” He scooted closer to her so that the last word whispered across her shoulder.

He was right. Still, things were moving so fast and she needed time to think, to process what they’d done on floor after Walda had left — and what happened in the bedroom later — and how much she’d enjoyed it, how much he’d enjoyed it. She shivered and flexed her own wrist. She’d probably have bruises; they both would. She pulled at his arm again, “Jaime, come on, I have to go. I have to be there before everyone wakes up.”

“That’s hours away,” he hummed into her skin and loosened his grip on her waist. His hand started to roam.

She caught her breath. “Jaime, I don’t think…I mean, my legs are a little sore…”

He scraped his teeth along her neck and she shivered. She moved against his fingers. He whispered in her ear, “You should just let me take care of you.” He nipped her earlobe.

Jaime had said that to her more than once, that he would take care of her. It made her a little nervous. Did he want her to move in? Did he want to support her? She was so used to her independence. She huffed a bit, “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. You should watch me sometime.”

He went perfectly still. She could hear him panting in the dark. She tensed in fear. _Does he think I’m rejecting him?_

“Dear gods, Brienne, you are incredible,” he groaned and then he was on her, all hands and teeth and lips and fingers.

Maybe her legs weren’t that sore after all. She could still be home before dawn.

***

Sansa zipped up her sweatshirt and pulled the hood up around her head to ward off the early morning winter chill. She took the stairs as quietly as possible. As she reached the top, she saw that Walda had placed her aggressively tasteful decorations all over the walls and railing at the staircase landing outside the Bolton’s apartment.

She gripped the box she was holding so hard she dented it. Stannis had specifically, _specifically_ said they were not allowed to decorate any common areas. Clearly, the condominium covenants and restrictions were a thing that lesser mortals were required to follow, but not Walda Bolton.

As she placed the gift on the doorstep, she considered ratting Walda out to Stannis. _No_. She took a deep breath and refused to give in to tinsellitis. She’d take the high road. She stopped before heading down the stairs, reached up, and defiantly tugged on one of the silvery strands so that the decorations were no longer symmetrical. It would drive Walda crazy as soon as she saw it.

She made her way down the steps as quietly as she came up. She heard an odd _step, tap, step, step, tap, step_ coming her way.

Down below, rounding the corner on the landing in front of Davos and Stannis’s apartment, she saw Jaime Lannister, wearing red and gold plaid pajama pants and a top coat, holding a pink-on-pink package that had clearly been professionally wrapped. She’d heard Brienne come in just before she’d gotten up, but the woman was asleep on the couch by the time she left. From the looks of the hickey on his neck, he and Brienne had enjoyed the handcuffs thoroughly. For a second she was distracted by the image of Brienne in thigh-high stockings and a garter belt. She looked down at Jaime and smiled. Stifling a giggle, she crept down to the landing. “Well, I guess I know who _you’ve_ got,” she whispered.

He smirked. “And I know who you’ve got. Mutually assured destruction,” he said. “So did you get Seria — uh, Doctor Bolton something chosen especially for him, or did you pick something that would affront Walda’s decorating tastes?”

Sansa was taken aback for a moment. She hadn’t realized that her disagreement with Walda’s aesthetic was so well known. She tilted her head. “Can’t it be both?”

“The best gifts always are,” Jaime said. “Has your Secret Stranger been good to you?”

Sansa grinned thinking about the new litterbox she’d received, “My gifts have had been very practical. And whoever gives them seems concerned that I’m not taking care of Ser Whiskers properly.”

Jaime nodded, “Bolton then, eh?”

Sansa had originally thought Davos was her gifter, but Jaime was probably right. Doctor Bolton would know the best books on kitten care. “Looks that way.”

“So we have a couple figured out. Know any more?” Jaime asked. “Do you know who is getting Brienne presents?”

Sansa was temporarily blinded by his smile. She almost let it slip but stopped herself. “The only other one I know is the person Margaery is gifting.” She smiled coyly. After all, technically she was answering his question.

Jaime shrugged, seeming uninterested. _If only he knew_ , she thought.

“Ah well, I want to get this delivered before he leaves for the office.” He hefted the box and took another step.

Sansa looked at his crutch. “You shouldn’t be straining yourself. Do you need me to get that for you?” she asked.

He shook his head, tousling his hair even more. He really was ridiculously handsome. “Just watch,” he said. He took two steps up the staircase, then reached up and placed the package on the landing above his head, the one outside the Bolton’s apartment. He then hauled himself up two more steps and turned. Balancing on his good leg, he picked up his crutch, aimed the base at the side of the wrapped gift, drew back and gave it a sharp nudge. As Sansa watched in amazement, it slid perfectly into place in front of the door.

Sansa just barely managed to restrain herself. “That was amazing. Like something out of a movie!” she whispered.

“I played a lot of pool in college. They called me Goldenhand because of all the gold dragons I took from them,” he said. Then he gestured at the staircase. “Ladies first.”

When Sansa got back to Brienne’s apartment, she noticed the small package outside the door that hadn’t been there just moments ago. She could see why Brienne liked Jaime so much.

***

Brienne snapped the Fitbit on her wrist. It really was too expensive. Brienne wondered where Gilly was getting the money to afford these gifts. Maybe she was using the money she got from Jaime, or maybe she’d finally gotten her financial aid check. It was a blue Fitbit Surge, the one with the heart rate monitor and the GPS tracking that would automatically log her runs, exactly the one that she’d wanted. She smiled to herself and then looked at the second brightly-wrapped package.

She felt a hint of dread but also a bit of excitement. Jaime's gifts to date had been embarrassing, yes, but they made her feel wanted. Desired. Last night with the handcuffs had been interesting. More than interesting. She never would have been brave enough to suggest that on her own. He was still feeling some frustration about being rather “stuck” on the bottom. He made that very clear with the things he said, the things he whispered in her ear. The things he said he wanted to do to her. The things he wanted to do with the handcuffs. She shivered.

She glanced at his window but couldn't see anything with the bright morning sun reflecting off the panes. She wondered again if he could see her, then brushed the thought aside.

She opened the package. She tilted her head to the left. She tilted it to the right. She pulled out the gift out of the box. It was black and had ropes and straps and metal rings connecting it all together. She couldn't quite tell what it was. Or what it was for. There was a large circular ring. She held it up by that. The ropes fell into place. Oh... _Oh_. Was it what it appeared to be? Could it be anything else?

She looked at the instruction manual in the bottom of the box. _Congratulations on your purchase of the Deluxe Fantasy 360 Degree Spinning Sex Swing. It has been carefully constructed and with proper care will give you years of enjoyment. With its patented CradleOfLuv™ for EverySize design, your Deluxe Fantasy Sex Swing can fit a range of body types. It provides unparalleled pleasure for both of you while simultaneously reducing fatigue._

Brienne's face flamed. She glanced again at Jaime's windows. How would she even go about using such a thing? She thought again of the things Jaime had whispered in her ear last night and again this morning, how he made her feel — She bit her lip and stuffed the contraption back in the box.

***

Margaery heard Brienne moving around in the other room. She’d not heard the blonde come home last night and hoped the handcuffs had been put to good use. Margaery grinned at the thought of her opening the Smith’s Eve gift.

It was kind of nice sleeping in a bedroom that was not her own, Margaery thought as she snuggled up to Sansa, who had crawled back into bed a couple of hours ago. The smells were different, the sounds were different — it was a bit like staying at a hotel without the cost. Also, unfortunately, without the daily housekeeping service. 

She ran her hand over Sansa’s hip. The other problem was, of course, that Sansa refused to do anything but sleep in Brienne’s bed. She’d held firm no matter how ardently Margaery had tried to persuade her.

Sansa rolled over and inhaled. “Is that coffee?” she asked sleepily.

On the bright side, Brienne made a full pot of coffee every morning, which was almost as good as housekeeping. “I’ll get you a cup,” Margaery said. “Don’t get out of bed.”

“My semester ended yesterday. I don’t plan to get out of bed for the next three weeks,” Sansa said muzzily, burrowing deeper into the covers.

Margaery got up and walked toward the door. At home she would have been naked in bed with Sansa, but out of deference to their host both of them were wearing nightclothes. Margaery had worn her ankle-length satin nightgown with hip-high leg slit on the first night hoping Brienne might notice, but after waking up repeatedly with her legs in bondage from the skirt she’d decided it was unworkable. Instead, today she wore a cute sleep top and shorts.

Brienne was gone. Had she gone over to Jaime’s? Maybe she was already showing him her latest Secret Stranger gift. Margaery grinned to herself and looked out the window. No, her boyfriend was at the window bird-watching again. It was an old-fashioned hobby but to each their own. He seemed to have spotted something down in the courtyard, but right now she was more interested in caffeine than wildlife. She poured the coffee, then noticed the gifts on the dining room table. There were only two, one for herself and one for Sansa. When Margaery had snuck through the living room in the middle of the night to put her gift to Brienne on the doorstep, there hadn’t been any other presents there; clearly their Secret Strangers were morning people. She could see some of the wrapping paper she’d used on Brienne’s gift peeking out of the trash.

Sansa’s gift was well-wrapped in the traditional blue and silver paper of Winter’s Seven. And Margaery’s — Margaery’s was in an all-too-familiar black and white striped box with a red ribbon around it.

Margaery glanced at the door to the bedroom, making sure no one was coming out, and then opened the box. When she saw what was inside, she sighed. _“Thirty-Nine Shades of Winter_ ,” she mumbled. For someone else it might have been a great gift, but Margaery already owned the Sephora Color Festival Blockbuster Palette, which had one hundred and thirty-nine different eyeshadows, lip glosses, eyeliners and blushes. The only annoying thing about the big palette was that Sansa kept using it.

She looked at the box again, smiled, and quietly fished the wrapping paper out of the trash to disguise the black-and-white box. Her Secret Stranger had given her a perfect way to resolve domestic tension – and since the box needed no tape and the ribbon was intact, she wouldn’t even have to get new wrapping paper. She tucked it into the weekender bag she had left sitting in the living room. Then she picked up the two coffee cups and Sansa’s gift and went back into the bedroom. “Good news! Looks like your Secret Stranger got your change of address form,” she said as she perched on the edge of the bed.

***

Walda slid an elegantly designed change-of-venue notice under Robert Baratheon’s door. His Stranger’s gifts were still on the doorstep. Clearly he’d gone out of town for the holiday. Who could blame the man if he’d searched for warmer climates? She hoped he'd arranged to send his Secret Stranger gifts before he left.

She walked across the courtyard, the sun high in the early afternoon sky, and up the stairs to Davos and Stannis’s unit. She was about to knock when Davos opened the door.

“Oh, hi!” Walda said.

Davos jumped back, his eyes wide. “Walda! I wasn’t expecting you. I apologize, I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’m just on my way out to the toy store..”

“Oh, I won’t take a minute!” Walda said, handing him the elegant card. “Gosh, I thought I had more but I guess you get the last one. We had to change the location of the Stranger’s Eve party because of that business with the ping-pong room.”

“Yes, so you mentioned yesterday,” Davos smiled, edging out the door.

Walda peeked through the doorway. She’d heard the sound of things moving around earlier. She’d thought they were redecorating, but clearly not. “Are y’all going on that camping trip that Stannis talked to Roosie about?” she asked.

“Stannis and Shireen are. I’m not,” Davos said. “But I do have to get supplies for them, so if you’ll excuse…”

“Oh, I understand, you’re in a hurry,” she said, moving toward the stairs up to her own unit. “Well, I’ll make sure to bake my special cupcakes for you and that little girl for the party, and I’m making a double batch of cookies for Stannis since he loves them so much!”

Davos looked like he was about to say something. Then he smiled weakly. Walda figured he must be stressed with the holiday season. “I’ll let you go!” she said, waving at him before she raced up the stairs only to notice some of her decorations had been altered. She narrowed her eyes as she readjusted the other side to match. _Perfect._ Now they were perfectly even and not that hodge-podge hipster asymmetry that Sansa Stark liked.

 _Sansa Stark_. The name made her realize she’d missed one unit with her change-of-location party notices: Brienne’s. But Brienne would know, because she’d slid a notice under Jaime’s door. She was sure it was fine. Brienne was always over at his place. He’d tried to hide her from Walda the night before, but she’d seen them come in the building, kissing and acting like teenagers. Silly man, always thinking he was being so stealthy.

Jaime would tell Brienne, and Brienne would tell Margaery and Sansa. It would all be fine. Walda didn’t need to find them and tell them. She felt a twinge of guilt, then suppressed it. She was being _helpful_ , darn it. Sansa had a catastrophe on her hands and had probably forgotten all about the party.

***

Sansa loved thrifting on her own, but it was even more fun with a buddy. Margaery couldn’t stand to paw through other people’s old stuff, but Tysha enjoyed it just as much as Sansa did — and she was really good at finding things.

“How about this?” Tysha asked, holding up a rust-finished, clearly handmade metal model of Shagga the Shaggy Stag.

“Oooo!” Sansa said, reaching for it. The rust finish was clearly intentional. Shagga wore a blue and silver striped scarf and his antlers felt like they were made of real horn. “This is, like, brilliant outsider art. It has to go in the center of the table at the Stranger’s Eve party.” She sighed. “Which I think we’re going to have to hold in Brienne’s living room.” 

“You’re pretty obsessed with this Stranger’s Eve party,” Tysha said.

“I have to be, or I’ll obsess about our bathroom,” Sansa said. “Margaery says I’m not even allowed to go _in_ there until they finish fixing it. She hinted that she’s taking me away on some sort of trip. She’s splurging, and I’m —”

“Poor?” Tysha supplied.

“Only if you’re comparing me to Margaery’s family. Or Jaime Lannister's.” She shrugged. “I just don’t think expensive gifts are the best ones. She and I haven’t been connecting lately. But speaking of Lannisters, how was your dinner last night?” Sansa asked, eager to change the subject.

Tysha huffed out a breath so hard that her dark bangs fluttered against her forehead. “Well, Jaime and Brienne left early. Jaime said something about a toilet exploding.”

“His — what?” Sansa asked, wondering if it all the toilets in the complex were flushing on borrowed time.

“I think it was an excuse. He was staring at Brienne all the way through his salad course. I think half of his lettuce wound up in his lap,” Tysha said. “She really looked lovely. She was wearing this dress —”

“The dress! Margaery and I helped pick it out. For years Margaery has been telling me that strong is the new sexy. I never thought I’d find all those muscles so hot. But Brienne…” Sansa stared into space for a moment, remembering the way the dress had skimmed Brienne’s body, showing it off rather than hiding it. And Brienne’s legs... She suddenly noticed Tysha was speaking again.

“…spent a lot of time talking to Tyrion’s father about the finances of a Waffle House franchise. He seemed very impressed with me at first. But then he figured out that my father only owns one franchise rather than all of the franchises in the Westerlands, and at that point I could have been a teeny ant.” She held up her hand, thumb and fingers a speck apart, to demonstrate how tiny. “But then Jaime and Brienne bolted, and Margaery’s grandmother took Tyrion’s father to task for the shoddy construction of your building. I guess Casterly Rock Enterprises was involved.” She smiled. “Tyrion and I ate a lot of oysters while they argued. And drank an entire bottle of Mopatis Estates Pale Amber. Tyrion said it was a vintage as old as I am. I’ve never had a wine that was more than five years old before.” Her eyes were wide. “And then Tyrion’s father and Margaery’s grandmother stormed out. He’d told them to put everything on his tab, so Tyrion and I had some green nectar from Myr and pavlova with blueberries and lemon curd,” She breathed in sharply. “Oh, that lemon curd.”

“I wasn’t asking about the food,” Sansa said, nudging Tysha, but reminding herself to ask Tysha the name of the restaurant later. She loved anything lemon.

Tysha glanced at Sansa, brushed her bangs off her face and went back to digging through the shelves to find hidden treasures. “He didn’t lay a hand on me. I guess when he said he wanted a human body shield, he really meant it.” She pulled something off the shelf. “How about this statue of the Maiden with her deer and her owls?” she said brightly, her turn to change the subject.

“Perfect,” Sansa said, her mind already racing ahead to her next project. “Say, are you doing anything for Stranger’s Eve? Want to come to our party?” Sansa would talk to Jaime about inviting his brother to the party, too. She still hadn’t figured out what she was going to give Margaery, but she knew what she was going to give Tysha. Tysha deserved a fairy-tale romance. Sure, Dr. Lannister didn’t exactly look like a handsome prince, but he was the man Tysha wanted — and Sansa wanted her to wind up with him in the most magical way possible. Someone needed to put the romance back in the holiday.

***

Margaery had told Sansa she was meeting with contractors at their apartment. It was a lie. In reality, she was sitting in their bedroom, ignoring the scent of cat urine that was left behind after Ser Whisker’s panic when the toilet exploded. She hoped Ser Whiskers was adjusting to his temporary stay with Loras and Renly, and that he wasn’t peeing on any of their stuff. Sort of hoped anyway. They had those matching purple and green silk print shirts —

She inhaled sharply at the memory, only to choke on lingering scent of Ser Whisker’s trauma. She was only suffering through this because she was trying to book a Secret Stranger getaway using her credit card points. It was not going well.

“I understand that you’re just doing your job. According to your policy, so long as there is a standard category room available I can book it with points, and I can see online that you have a number of double and king rooms available,” Margaery said in the sweetest tones she could manage.

“Those rooms are all superior rooms,” said the woman on the other end of the line, in the sort of monotone that indicated she answered this question a lot. “Our standard room has been sold out for quite some time.”

“Standard room, singular? So you have one _standard_ room. And let me guess, it’s next to the ice machine and the boiler room, with a lovely view of the dumpsters?” she asked, exasperated. This was now the fifth hotel she’d contacted.

“If you’d like to book with points, we suggest you book ahead. We have openings six months from now,” the woman said, still sounding bored.

“Of course you do, that’s hurricane season,” Margaery said, then took a deep breath and worked to adjust her tone. “I’m so sorry. It’s been a stressful week. Our home has had a plumbing catastrophe that will take weeks to fix, and I’m trying to take my girlfriend’s mind off it by taking her away for a few days. Are you sure you can’t help?”

“Girlfriend?” the booking agent said.

“Yes,” Margaery said. Hadn’t Loras told her that the hospitality industry had a higher-than-average number of queer people in it? “If there’s anything you can —”

She heard a click as the woman on the other end of the line hung up.

Margaery stared at her phone, sighed, pulled up the web browser and clicked on the list of resort locations again. Living in King’s Landing it was easy to feel like same-sex relationships were normal, but like a blast of exploding toilet water she was once again reminded that not everyone felt the same way. Maybe she’d have better luck with the hotel chain’s property in Dorne.

***

Gilly flipped through her large stack of mail, most of it redirected from the North. It had taken a while for the forwarding to go through. There were Valyrian Express bills. She didn’t have a ValEx card. She opened the one stamped “Final Notice.”

It said she owed three hundred and ninety dragons and payment was due in ...four days, or it would go to collections. That couldn’t be right. She opened the oldest bill and looked at the charges: a 22” flat screen from Hardhomme Electronics and a purchase of twenty-three dragons at Sippin’ Slynts, the drive-thru around the corner from the trailer park. Ferny had mentioned their dad had gotten a new TV for his bedroom. Gilly put her head in her hands. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he would get a credit card in her name. If she didn’t pay it, her credit would be ruined. If her credit got ruined, she would never be able to qualify for school loans. Her hands trembled. What was she going to do? She could sell the bag Jaime and Brienne had gotten her, and the new bicycle helmet she got for Warrior’s Eve. She wondered if it were legal to sell the subway pass they’d given her today. Selling used stuff wouldn’t get her much money, though. It never did. She needed an answer to her prayer.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment, Gilly thought maybe the gods were smiling on her. She shook her head. She wasn’t that lucky.

She opened the door.

“Hello,” said a small voice.

Gilly looked down to find Stannis’s daughter, Shireen, holding out her hand. Gilly shook it. The girl had a firm grip for one so young.

“I am Shireen Baratheon and you are Gilly Craster. We met at the Mother’s Eve party,” she said, oddly formal.

Gilly nodded, still confused. “I remember. We painted your face all over with makeup.”

Shireen nodded and smiled before her serious expression returned. “I would like to ask your advice.”

Gilly pulled back a bit. “My advice?”

Shireen nodded.

Most of Gilly’s sisters were older and she’d never had to do much to care for the young ones. Gilly took a deep breath and thought that sometimes, doing something nice for someone else resulted in someone doing something nice for you. That’s what she’d heard anyway. She looked at the girl and decided she could put her own problems aside for a while. She invited Shireen inside.

Gilly was grateful that Brienne had bought that chocolate milk as she watched Shireen finish her entire glass in one gulp.

“How can I help you?” Gilly asked.

Shireen licked the tan liquid from her upper lip and began to speak. “You’re from the North, right?”

Gilly nodded, suddenly conscious of her accent. That Stannis Baratheon always spoke so precisely. Was the little girl here to correct her grammar?

“Do you sleep in the woods to celebrate the Old Gods during Winter?”

Gilly remembered the time her dad had thrown her and all of her sisters out, telling them sleeping in the woods would be good for them. He never strayed too far from his beer and television remote control. _His new television._ She pushed that thought aside. “I have.”

“My father and I are going camping tonight and I want to be sure I do it properly. Mother says that the Old Gods live in the forests and require sacrifice and self-denial and I’m afraid if I don’t sacrifice the right way, the children of the forest will abandon me.”

Gilly sat back in her chair. That wasn’t right at all. Compared to the rituals of the Seven, worshipping the Old Gods was nothing. She tilted her head at the little girl. “Well, it’s not for me to correct your mother, but I grew up in the North and there weren’t much to the rituals. If you’re going to pray, you find a weirwood or a heart tree and if you can’t find one, just praying hard will do. You don’t need a special place or special water or special necklace. You just pray.” Gilly started praying that very moment.

Shireen looked at her in disbelief. “Mother says all of the religions have specific rites that must be followed strictly.”

Stannis Baratheon might be uptight, but this girl’s mother sounded like a right nutter. Gilly shook her head. “That might be right for some other religions, but not the Old Gods of the North.”

Shireen narrowed her eyes, “Are you sure? My daddy and I need to follow the traditions.”

Camping out in the tradition of the North for Gilly had meant eating half-burnt marshmallows mashed together with chocolate and graham crackers and hoping she wouldn’t have to share a sleeping bag with more than one sister. “You just camp out. Enjoy the time with the other people. That’s the most important part.”

Shireen looked thoughtful. “Daddy and I are trying to celebrate all the religions this year.”

Gilly nodded. “I see.”

“Mother dropped me off early as R’hllor needed her.”

From what Gilly knew of R’hllor, all that religion needed was a match and some lighter fluid. Would they give her money if she converted?

“She didn’t want me to go with her,” Shireen continued. “She said I’d be a bother.”

The conversation started to make a little more sense to Gilly. “I see...but you’re having a good holiday with your father and that nice Mr. Seaworth.”

It was Shireen’s turn to nod. “Davos. He takes good care of my dad.”

Gilly filled Shireen’s glass with the rest of the chocolate milk. “They both seem very nice and they love you very much.” Gilly felt a twinge of jealousy thinking of her own father.

Shireen’s eyes were wide. “Sometimes, I think, maybe, I’m not doing things the right way and I’m a bother to him too. Mother says —”

Gilly cut her off. “Well, your dad took you to the Mother Rhoyne celebration the morning of Mother’s Eve, right?”

Shireen nodded.

“And he’s taking you camping tonight?”

Shireen bobbed her head. “And we went to the Drowned God ice swim yesterday.”

Gilly smiled, “Well it seems to me that maybe it’s not so important that you do things right as long as you’re doing them together.” Stannis Baratheon would never ruin his daughter’s credit.

Shireen finished her second glass of milk while she thought. She set down her glass and looked at her hands. “I’m a little scared.” She inhaled, “Of the woods.”

Gilly reached out to brush a strand of hair behind Shireen’s ear. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Don’t you worry none. Your daddy will be there to protect you. He won’t be scared at all.”

Shireen’s eyes shone with gratitude. Gilly felt just a tiny bit better. She’d find the money somehow. She had to.

***

Roose knew it was traditional for the gift on Smith’s Eve to be something either modern or electronic. He was delighted that Gilly had dispensed with the tradition. The gift, a ceramic casting of a face from a weirwood tree painted to look like wood, was well-chosen and completely suited to him. Given Walda’s decorating tastes, he’d decided it would be for the best to hang it at his veterinary office rather than at home.

Roose hung the mask in his private office — he’d learned that weirwood images unnerved Southroners and were not appropriate for lobby décor — and then sat down at his computer to review the surveillance footage from that morning.

He fast-forwarded through several hours of footage where nothing happened. Then, suddenly, he saw motion.

A slim figure in a hooded sweatshirt came into view, package in hand. Obviously, it was the Gilly girl leaving his gift. But to his surprise, after placing the gift down and walking toward the stairs, she turned. He couldn’t see her face, just the “Crownlands Cuties” logo on the front of her sweatshirt. One hand reached up and tweaked the decorations, almost completely obscuring the camera lens. All he could see was the bottom foot of his doorway and the mat in front of the door.

Roose sat back and folded his arms, considering. Clearly she had known the camera was there. Roose had been very careful to make sure that, through the window on the stairwell landing, it would look merely like he was helping his wife hang decorations. _Did the threat have some sort of Wi-Fi detector? And was the Gilly girl part of the conspiracy, or just an unwitting pawn in the game?_ She seemed too young, but he’d thought that of the beggar lad in Qarth, too.

He saw movement on the screen again and leaned in. A pink package slid into view on his doorstep. It was as if his enemy had slid Walda’s gift from out of frame just to taunt him.

“Doctor Bolton,” his assistant said, knocking on the door. “I hate to bother you but Mrs. Frey brought in her cat and he got out. He’s peeing _everywhere_.” She sounded desperate.

“Did you try capturing him?” he asked.

“I did,” his assistant whimpered through the door. “His claws…there’s blood…so much blood.”

“I’ll be out in a minute. Get everyone you can out of the waiting room,” he said calmly. “Exam Room Two should be safe if you lock the door. I’ll take care of this.” He pulled on the leather apron and rugged leather three-quarter length gloves he kept for just this purpose.

The problem with having in-laws as clients was that you could neither fire them nor practice your taxidermy skills on them or their ill-behaved pets.

***

Jaime stared at the gift he’d just unwrapped, imagining its uses. He dialed Tyrion.

“There’s some sort of trendy store that’s all about soap, right?” he asked as soon as his brother answered the phone. “Does King’s Landing have one?”

“You must have misdialed, Jaime. This isn’t Cersei,” Tyrion said.

“I know that. But I thought with all the women you entertain you might be able to give me an answer. I imagine the store clerks have your credit card memorized from the gifts you’ve bought from them.” He picked up the item and tested its weight.

“It’s called Lush and there’s one at the Old Gate Galleria.” Tyrion paused. “And I’m certain I’m going to regret this, but why are you asking?”

“Brienne. She wants us to shower together. Do you think I’m going to use Ironborn Body Wash with my girlfriend?” Jaime held the phone between his shoulder and his ear and experimentally bent his elbow to see how the adjustable, extra-long back brush would work. At its mid-range extension, it reached far past the middle of his shoulder blades. It was perfect. He scratched his back.

“Haven’t you watched her bring in her groceries enough times to know what she likes? And if she wants to shower with you, won’t she just, you know, join you? Isn’t that why you took off last night and abandoned me with Father?”

Jaime swung the brush like a sword. “Sorry. It was an emergency.”

“An awkward erection is not defined as an emergency, as you’d know if you ever matured beyond the age of fourteen,” Tyrion said. “Father and Olenna argued for the rest of the night. I would have found it hilarious, but if Olenna and Father break up then we’ll be the objects of Father’s undivided attention again.”

“Hmm. Think we can convince Cersei to set fire to a building? That would distract Father for several weeks,” Jaime said.

“Currently he’s distracted by her absence,” Tyrion said.

Jaime shrugged, then realized Tyrion couldn’t see him. “Cersei is Cersei. I’m sure she’s fine. I tried to burn her last email, but figured listing her email address as spam was a better solution. There are more important things in this world than our sister.”

“Like stalking your neighbors?”

“I caught Derby Girl leaving a gift for Serial Killer this morning,” Jaime said. “She mentioned that she knows who her girlfriend has, but she doesn’t know who has Brienne.”

“So when you say you caught her, you mean that she caught you dropping off your gift?” Tyrion asked.

“It was a mutual catching,” Jaime said.

“I find it hard to believe you’ve spent all this time watching your neighbors and yet you can’t figure out who everyone’s Secret Stranger is,” Tyrion said.

“I have theories,” Jaime said, not mentioning the fact that his theory was singular and involved his own gifts, which he knew were from Brienne. “Hey, do you have a copy of that ancient Essos sex manual, _The Rules of Desire_?”

“ _One chapter_ of that book is a sex manual. It also deals with how to find a wife, how to choose a courtesan, how to seduce another man’s wife —”

“Okay, okay, I get the idea. Do you have a copy?”

“It sits next to other seminal sexual works such as _The Joy of Sex_ , _The Story of O_ , _The Moon-Pale Maiden in Furs_ , _Lady Connington's Lover_ , the _Rope Bondage and Erotic Macramé Handbook_ —”

“I need that one too,” Jaime said, cutting him off.

There was a pause before Tyrion spoke. “I am generally the first to encourage someone to explore new things — for example, when those girls approached young Podrick about a threesome. But your tastes have always been rather…banal.”

“Banal?” Jaime asked, dropping the brush on his coffee table and glaring as if his brother could see it.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with being vanilla,” Tyrion said. “But rope bondage — that’s jumping in the deep end.”

“I need to learn to swim quickly, little brother,” Jaime said. “Last night Brienne pulled out handcuffs.”

“Uh-huh,” Tyrion said. “This will really tell me more than I want to know about your sex life, but did you handcuff her to the bed or did she handcuff you to the bed?”

“No one is handcuffing anyone to my bed — the headboard’s solid wood,” Jaime said.

“With the addition of a couple of eye bolts…never mind. I’m getting ahead of myself. So, what, you left them on the coffee table?”

“We — uh — wound up handcuffed to each other,” Jaime said.

“Mmmm. I commend you on your unique approach,” Tyrion said. “Were you clothed or unclothed?”

“Does it matter?”

“If you want to get unclothed without using scissors, I'd say yes.”

“We got around it. She was wearing a dress,” Jaime said. “It turns out that Brienne can pick a handcuff lock with a paper clip. She’s amazing.”

“Huh. And yet Father’s background check didn’t reveal a criminal record. She’s either very good at breaking the law or she has some unusual hobbies. May I ask why you didn’t just use the key?”

“We left it in the car,” Jaime said.

“Of course you did,” responded Tyrion, “because the backseat of your sports car is precisely the place to try out a little bondage.”

“Front seat,” Jaime corrected. “Bring over those books. I want to be prepared in case she reveals any more unusual hobbies in bed. I don’t want her to get bored with me.”

“How long have you been together? And she’s faking it already?”

“She’s not _faking_ anything,” Jaime said, then paused. “How would I know if she’s faking it?” He began pacing his way around the apartment, trying to ignore his limp.

“You ask as if I would know, big brother,” Tyrion said.

“Nevermind, I know she’s not faking it. She’s just kinky.” Jaime wondered for a moment if she’d done those things with The Asshole, then remembered how she’d cringed whenever that man had touched her. No, she just did those things with him. He was certain.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Tyrion said. “I’ll bring the books when I come over for Stranger’s Eve. Do you need me to bring anything else? You are going to have copious amounts of wine, aren’t you? Good wine, not that swill you buy. It’s the only way I’ll be able to survive Father and his girlfriend, especially if they’re fighting.”

“You could always bring your TA again. She seemed to do quite well as your human body shield,” Jaime said. Someone had shoved yet another flyer under his door. He didn't even look at it as he tossed it in the trash; he'd gotten enough coupons from that Yunkish place to wallpaper his condo.

“Yes, well. I think I took advantage of her more than was reasonable last night,” Tyrion said.

“Took advantage? Is it taking advantage if you pay them?”

“I didn’t _pay_ her. I just enjoy her company,” Tyrion responded.

“Little brother, are you beginning an actual romance?”

“Do you think I’m capable of one of those?” Tyrion asked. “If I have to have a human body shield, I’d like her to be fun. And Tysha is.”

“How fun?”

“Are you asking me about my sex life now?”

“I’m just thinking, she spent time with Brienne on Mother’s Eve. I wonder if they talked about stuff. I wonder if she would tell me.”

“You are not asking my TA about your girlfriend’s kinky sexual tendencies.”

“Fine. I’m just worried that that I’m not pleasing her.”

Tyrion made an odd noise at the other end of the line. “I do not want to know about you pleasing anyone. Ever.”

“I did please her today. I got her a Fitbit for Smith’s Eve and she loved it. I saw her wearing it on her way out earlier,” Jaime said. “I also pleased Baker Wife with a deluxe set of spatulas.” Jaime turned to look out the windows and check in on his neighbors.

“Why do I not want to think about Baker Wife being pleased by a spatula?”

“Wait, Brienne is back. She’s wearing her Fitbit, and she has a bag from the hardware store. What would she need from the hardware store?” Jaime grabbed his binoculars. “She’s going to visit Uptight Bear. I need to run out to Lush.” Jaime hated the thought of leaving while she was at home, but he had a physical therapy appointment too. “Hey, why don’t you buy me some surveillance cameras for Stranger’s Eve?”

The line went dead.

***

Stannis furrowed his brow at Brienne. The woman was odd, certainly. She was also kind. She could always be relied on to watch the apartment when he and Davos traveled. Shireen liked her. Davos insisted she had excellent instincts about people. Stannis disagreed. Her previous boyfriend had been dreadful, and now she was dating that flippant Jaime Lannister across the way. Now she was suggesting a modification to his unit. _Odd._

“So...I thought I would come to you,” Brienne finished.

“You want to know if there are any COA regulations regarding installing hanging fixtures?”

Brienne nodded, turning a bright red. “Hanging hooks from the ceiling. Like for plants, televisions…heavy things.”

Stannis nodded. Prior to her obsession with religion, Selyse had been monofocused on macramé. He had been commandeered to install new hooks for her to hang her latest works, until their entire home looked like a ball of multicolored jute rope. He thought for a moment it would be nice if Selyse had gone back to crafting rather than her current obsessions with the religions of Essos. He pulled the most recent copy of the COA regulations from the bookshelf, turning first to the index. Would it be in “Additions” or “Improvements”? He checked “Improvements” first.

“I'm only asking because, well, Jaime...I...we want to be able to hang something that had considerable weight to it, not just a plant.”

“Improvements.” Stannis became distracted by the section on lighting in common areas. The luminaries that Walda had suggested were not compliant with the COA regulations. He'd have a discussion with her about that later. “So, something like an apparatus for hanging a large television set from a bolt in the ceiling?”

Brienne stammered, “Yes, um, quite large. And heavy. Maybe like...one hundred and eighty pounds? Or say two hundred?”

He nodded absently, looking through the improvements section and finding nothing. He flipped to Additions. “That sounds quite heavy.”

“Well…speakers. And we need to be prepared if it moves. Uhm, because of earthquakes.”

King’s Landing hadn’t seen an earthquake in over three hundred years, but he appreciated her forethought nonetheless. Stannis looked at her and arched a brow. “Let me check the Modifications section.”

She nodded, her face an interesting shade of scarlet.

 _Modifications_. There it was. He read the code aloud. “’A condominium owner may make such modifications as necessary to their own unit provided such modifications do not alter the structural integrity of the unit or any public areas. Pursuant to code 69, any such fastener or coupling must penetrate a load-bearing member to a depth satisfactory to support the desired object. See chart on page 39.’”

Brienne's eyes slid away from his. She mumbled a thank you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to pack for the camping trip. That wasn’t it at all. He just felt obligated to make small talk. It was the neighborly thing to do. “Have you been pleased with your Secret Stranger gifts this year?” He tried not to think about the fact that he was wearing elastic-waist pants. They were just more comfortable, for the camping trip.

Brienne turned an even more virulent shade of red. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if his horrible brother Robert were indeed her Secret Stranger and had purchased her something inappropriate. That would be just like Robert, to ruin a cheerful ritual, like he’d ruined that COA meeting by eating all the cookies. “I certainly hope your gifts have been in keeping with the holiday themes and generally appropriate.”

Brienne met his eyes, looking for all the world like an aurochs caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. “They've been fine. Just fine.”

“Well,” Stannis closed the book of regulations and lifted up the change of venue notice. “Because of the incident in the ping-pong room, it appears Lannister has agreed to host the Stranger’s Eve party in his unit. I understand the two of you are friends?”

Brienne furrowed her brow. “I thought Jaime said his father was coming over for a Stranger's Eve dinner.” She shook her head. “I might be wrong about that. Thanks for the uh...information, Stannis. I really appreciate it.”

“It's always been my position that we should maintain a full copy of the COA regulations in the ping-pong room, but the last copy left there was vandalized, probably by outsiders. We really should see more to the security of the public areas.” Stannis narrowed her eyes. “Do you and Lannister have a preferential position?”

Brienne turned scarlet again. Really, the woman blushed for no reason at all. She mumbled something again and excused herself.

Stannis now had no reason not to complete packing for their Old Gods camping trip. He grabbed the anvil-shaped tin that his Secret Stranger had left on his doorstep. He could bring it for them to share once darkness fell. He opened the box to see what they looked like this time. Inside were cookies shaped like tools, frosted delicately.

Surely Shireen wouldn’t notice if one was missing…

***

Brienne stood on a chair, the power drill at her feet, and tugged on the hook she had installed in Jaime’s bedroom. She'd written an instruction manual for installation of a hanging chair, but this was the first time she'd actually used a power drill. It was heavier than she'd expected. She'd have to note that for her next manual.

She was glad she’d written that instruction book, because the manual for this sex swing was completely useless. Clearly the writer was no professional technical writer — they’d probably never even done the “How to Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich” exercise.

She looked up at the hook one more time before she picked up the swing by the metal circle at the top and attached it to the hook. She drew in a deep breath. _Time to test it out_. She secured one of her wrists in the Velcro cuff and twined the fingers of her other hand in the ropes and straps and with a slight jerk, lifted her feet off the chair. The hook held. She drew her knees up to her chest. She gave a mighty swing.

***

Tyrion opened his briefcase, pulled out his stack of ungraded essays and plopped them on his desk. He uncapped one of his favorite red pens and began to read.

`Stanger’s Eve is the best of the seven holidays cause you get to get something you always wanted. One year I got a new car, but it was used. Winter’s Seven isn’t too commercial. It’s just keeping the economy growing. The Citadel should be required to declare Winter whenever there is an economic downturn to stimulate the economy.`

Tyrion put down his pen. It wasn’t even worth actual grading and it was nine more pages. He went to the end, marked it with a C- and wrote “Brevity” under the grade. Good enough. He wished he’d passed more of these off on his TA. His TA, Tysha…

She’d held her own last night with his father, a remarkable feat. She’d rescued the conversation when it had threatened to devolve into the same litany of bitter, cutting criticisms that it became every year. She’d also bailed out Jaime’s awkward girlfriend more than once. 

Jaime’s girlfriend. _Brienne._ He wouldn’t have thought she had a kinky bone in her body, although she did blush as much as that girl in the book _39 Shades of Grey_. She certainly wasn’t Tyrion's type. Too tall, too muscular, too freckled and uncomfortable. But Jaime was happy with her, happier than he’d been in years. Maybe there was something to be said for real romances.

He looked a the stack of ungraded essays and shrugged. Pain shared is pain halved, and he at least owed her a nice dinner. He pulled out his phone and sent a text.  _What are you doing?_

The thirty seconds before she responded seemed an age.  _Grading really terrible student essays._

He grinned and tapped out a response.  _On a Friday evening? Aren’t you supposed to be out drinking and enjoying your college years?_

Her response this time was much quicker.  _I would but the professor I work for is a hard taskmaster. He says I have to get these done by Stranger’s Eve._

He took a deep breath.  _He sounds like a real jackass. You should make him buy you dinner tonight._

He stared at the screen, waiting for a response. It finally came.  _I should. I should bring these essays over to his place and he should have Volanti food waiting for me._

He exhaled.  _And a nice bottle of wine. See you in thirty minutes?_

 _I meant it about bringing the essays._ The text came quickly.

Pain shared indeed. _Let’s give them all C’s._

She responded with a smiley face and  _On my way._

He ordered half the items on the menu of the Volanti place for delivery. He was opening a bottle of wine to let it breathe when Jaime called.

***

Jaime balanced his crutch against the door and shifted the oversized bag of body washes, soaps and bath bombs to his other hand. He used the wrist-band keychain he’d gotten for Mother’s Eve, Brienne’s thoughtful “Secret Stranger” gift, to help in opening the door. He’d had physical therapy and his leg ached and worse than that, he’d stopped by her unit and she wasn’t home. He heard sounds coming from the apartment as he unlocked the door.

He knew it wasn’t Gilly. He’d seen her upset and leaving Brienne’s. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he opened his front door with his crutch. He heard a crash from his bedroom. He called Tyrion.

“Calling to ask me about floggers and whips now?” Tyrion answered.

“Shhh...I think there is someone in my apartment,” Jaime whispered. “It could be Serial Killer.”

“Did you call the police or have you pissed them off?”

“No. I called you,” Jaime said. “Someone is in my bedroom.”

Tyrion inhaled, “Is it Cersei?”

Jaime shook his head before answering, “Only if she broke in. She doesn’t have a key to the place and the door is undamaged.” Jaime advanced through the apartment. “If I say beetle, call the police.”

“You really should leave and call the police yourself,” Tyrion advised.

“I’m no craven,” Jaime responded. “Now keep quiet. I’m going in.”

Jaime pushed open the bedroom door with his crutch to find Brienne balancing on the toes of one foot, hanging by her wrist from a black leather and rope contraption attached to the ceiling, a chair on its side just away from her. She was reaching for the chair with her foot, her leg stretched out and toe pointed, trying to tip the chair back into place. He dropped the phone.

She swung around at the sound. “Oh gods, Jaime, I’m so sorry. I borrowed Gilly’s key and I spoke to Stannis and thought I would go ahead and install a hook and oh gods, this is so embarrassing.” She fiddled with the strap around her wrist. “I was trying to judge the height and adjust and I can’t get this strap off my wrist.”

Jaime could hear his brother squawking. He picked up the phone. “Everything’s fine. I’ll call you later.” Jaime looked at the ceiling, looked at the black ropes running down to the tangle of leather straps, looked at Brienne’s long pale arm, wrist encased, at the strip of freckled stomach exposed as her shirt rode up. “Is that…?”

Brienne turned a particular shade of red. “I mean, with your leg and the problem on the couch, I mean. I can see how you’d think it would be, you know,” she paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “better for you. Like this.”

Jaime dropped his crutch. His leg didn’t ache nearly so much.

Brienne tugged again at the strap around her wrist. “I’m a little stuck. Could you come here and grab the chair or maybe, if you can, lift me up a little so I can ease the tension on the strap and get it undone?” She stopped swinging and looked at him with her astonishing blue eyes.

Jaime closed the door and went to her.

***

The air in the forest was suffused with the warm, sharp smell of pine and eucalyptus, and very faintly, the ocean. Shireen had jumped up and down with excitement as soon as they got out of the car. She was delighted to unroll her gift from the Warrior — a sleeping bag good to zero degrees. Stannis had received a matching gift, but in adult size.

“Perhaps you should come with us,” he’d said to Davos as they were loading up the car.

Davos had chuckled. “Not on your life. I’m having dinner with Sal tonight, and while you’re sleeping in the woods I’ll tuck myself into bed with a nice cup of hot cocoa. Don’t worry, I tucked packets in for both you and Shireen.”

True to Roose’s word, all of the followers of the Old Gods at this campground were either very old, infirm, or families with young children. Shireen had found a little boy to play with, which had given Stannis time to review the latest _Cataloguing & Classification Quarterly._ Finally, they’d had dinner alongside all their campmates at a long table where the meats and side dishes were passed down for everyone to partake. The cookies were passed down for everyone as well. Shireen took one. Stannis took six. And then they went to bed.

During the day, the canvas-walled tents had looked sturdy and cozy — almost like a child’s drawing of a house. Once the lantern had been turned off, the walls of the tent didn’t seem quite so solid. Stannis gritted his teeth and tried to slow his breathing, burrowing deeper into his sleeping bag as if that could protect him, or even warm the tip of his icy nose. He could hear every noise outside — the way the trees groaned in the wind, the hooting of an owl. He heard Shireen’s sharp intake of breath as a howl echoed across the campground. It howled again and he could hear her start to cry.

“What’s wrong, child?” Stannis asked. It came out more sharply than he intended.

She sniffled. “I’m stupid. I’m just being a big baby,” she said. He could hear her trying to control her sobs. “Rickard said that camping here was dumb, that it doesn’t even count. He said he’s been going out into the woods since he was barely older than his little brother. I bet he’s not scared, and he’s only ten!”

Stannis considered pointing out that there was very little difference between the two children’s ages, far less than between himself and Davos. Then he thought about it. While there was only one year of difference between Shireen and the little boy, that was ten percent of their ages. In finite numbers, the gap between his age and Davos’s was greater, but as a percentage, it was less.

There was another animal howl. Stannis stiffened. Shireen sobbed again. Stannis ground his teeth. _What would Davos do?_

Stannis unzipped his sleeping bag and took two steps across the tent to Shireen’s side. He leaned over, but then remembered Davos’s complaints about how he sometimes loomed, and got to his knees. The cold from the ground leached through his fleece pajamas; he hoped that it might at least act like ice on his creaky joints. “There, there,” he said, awkwardly patting Shireen on the shoulder.

“And you’re scared too! I can tell. You’re supposed to be strong and protect me and make me feel safe,” she sobbed.

He was taken aback. He thought he’d hidden his hatred of camping so well. He knew he needed to reassure her. “Shireen, I’m not fond of camping, but you’re safe here with me. Nothing will hurt you while I’m here.”

She hiccupped. “Promise?”

He couldn’t guarantee that nothing would ever hurt her; no one ever could. He heard Davos inside his head again, _She needs you, love, she needs to know you’re there for her._

Against every instinct, Stannis said the words, “I promise.”

Shireen seemed to settle a bit although he could still feel the tension radiating from her little form. “Daddy, why did you take all the cookies at dinner? Why do you always take all the cookies? Rickard was making fun of you.”

Stannis tensed up. “It’s not his place to criticize his elders,” Stannis said.

“You embarrassed me,” Shireen said stubbornly. “You’re as embarrassing as slobbery Uncle Robert.”

“At least I waited until everyone else had had one. If you were with Uncle Robert none of you would ever see a cookie, because he would take them all,” Stannis said, his jaw locked and teeth grinding. “He has since we were children. He used to steal half my juice and milk, but he would take all of the cookies.”

Shireen was quiet for a minute. He couldn’t even hear her breathing. “Is that why you eat all the cookies so fast?” she asked quietly. “Was it the only way you’d get any?” She rolled over to look at him.

It had never occurred to him before. “I suppose so,” he said, settling back on his haunches. “The last time I was camping I was your age. I found the cookies before Robert did. He saw and chased me into the woods. I outran him, but I became lost.”

The coyote howled again. “Were you scared?” Shireen asked.

He ran a hand over her hair. “I was,” he said. “Once it got dark, I was very scared.”

Outside the owl hooted again. There was the flapping of wings and the high-pitched shrieking of some kind of rodent, cut short.

“What happened then?” Shireen asked, more interested in him than she’d been all evening.

“Oh, well,” Stannis continued, trying not to relieve the terror of being alone in the woods, “a search team found me just after dark. Robert denied chasing me, Father decided I could not be trusted in the woods and took away my allowance. And Robert mocked me.”

Shireen’s hand snuck out from the sleeping bag and rested on his cheek. “Uncle Robert is a jerk.”

“He is,” Stannis said. He would not lie to his daughter again tonight. “Do you want to go home?”

She took a deep breath. “No,” she said.

There was another sound from outside their tent, a hissing, cackling clamor.

“What is that?” Shireen asked.

“Those are raccoons. They are…” He ground his teeth, realizing he was about to break the resolution not to lie he’d made only moments ago. “They are fighting,” he said. He simply did not have the energy for that particular conversation tonight.

“That noise will probably keep the other things away,” Shireen said, nodding firmly.

 _That noise will probably keep sleep away_ , Stannis thought to himself.

Stannis kissed her forehead as he’d seen Davos do and went back to his own sleeping bag.

“Daddy,” her little voice called out to him again, this time slightly drowsy.

“Yes, Shireen?” he asked.

“You can always have my cookies,” she said.

Stannis pulled the sleeping bag up to his nose. Somehow he felt just a little bit warmer, “Thank you, Shireen. Good night.”

A wolf howled in the distance, but Stannis wasn’t worried. The tent would keep them safe...

***

Sam looked at Jon in irritation. The Lord Commander was giving a pep talk about the massive amount of packages they were going to have to deliver on Stranger’s Eve. Pyp and Grenn were groaning and asking if they could use the mail trucks usually reserved for the more rural routes. All Sam could think about was rifling through his letters, looking for another note from Gilly. Jon spoke for exactly thirty-nine minutes. It felt like thirty-nine years. Finally, Sam was out on his route. And there it was, another note.

_Dear Crow,_

_It’s Warrior’s Eve and I got another gift from Jaime and Brienne. I found the tags for it in Jaime's trash. It's a bike helmet. I usually don’t wear one, but King’s Landing has a lot more cars._

She didn’t wear a bike helmet all the time? Gilly was so brave.

_The holidays have gotten better, although I still miss home. I’m trying to fit in here. It’s hard to be strong when you’re lonely._

She sounded strong, to travel so far from home, move to a city where she knew no one. She was probably the strongest person he knew.

_I know I’m complaining when I really shouldn’t. I’ve made friends here and I have a nice place to stay. I know the life of a Crow is much harder, trudging through all that snow, delivering heavy packages. Happy Warrior’s Eve, Crow._

He wasn’t strong and brave, not even slightly, but suddenly he wanted to be.

_Imagining you reading my notes helps me be a strong and brave, a warrior like you._

_Thinking of you,_

_Gilly_

Sam smiled. A warrior. She’d called him a warrior. He whistled the opening bars to _Shagga the Shaggy Stag_. Then he heard howling in the distance. He jerked, and his boot slipped on the ice. He caught himself before he fell flat on his face. He stood in shock for a moment, marveling at his newfound reflexes. He never managed to catch himself. He always just fell, splattering all over the ice, rolling about like a beached whale, looking and feeling ridiculous. This time though, he’d caught himself. He grinned. He was brave. He was strong. For Gilly, he could be a warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pavlova with blueberries and lemon curd is one of CommaSplice's favorites, just as she is one of ours. Thank you, Comma, for the inspiration.
> 
> Unfortunately, life has happened and Maiden's Eve will not be posted until next week. Stranger's Eve should be posted two weeks after that. Apologies. We had an attack of life.


	7. Maiden's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maiden's Eve is the romantic day of Winter's Seven. So who is getting sexy lingerie? Who is thinking about filling out forms? Who is inspecting toilets? Who is getting beaten over the head with tinsel? Who is getting the dessert he's been wanting for months now? Who is breaking an oath? And can Stannis rock a smokey eye?

Margaery woke up painfully early, her phone vibrating its silent alarm under her pillow. Careful not to wake Sansa, she got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants over her sleep shorts, grabbed Sansa’s Crownland Cuties hoodie, and slipped out to the kitchen. Stealthily, she put her gift to Brienne and the makeup kit for Sansa, both neatly wrapped, on top of the dining room table. She balanced the cards indicating whose was whose on the front of each one.

She expected to find Sansa’s gift from her Stranger on their doorstep, but it had not yet arrived. Perhaps her Stranger was sleeping in today; it was the weekend after all. Well, maybe it would be there when she got back from sneaking off to their building’s lobby to call the Dornish resort. Sunspear was two time zones ahead and Margaery meant to call them right at 9am their time. She couldn’t bear to be surrounded by the odor of cat urine again, and no one who was likely to give away her surprise to Sansa would be hanging around the mailboxes at that hour anyway. _The early bird catches the worm_ , she thought, _and this early bird is going to catch us a nice resort getaway_. She refused to allow herself any negative thoughts. Nothing was allowed to go wrong today.

As Margaery shut the door, she didn’t even notice the little breeze it created in the kitchen, just enough to blow the nametags she’d left on the packages on to the floor.

***

Roose glanced out the window and narrowed his eyes. It was the Gilly girl again. He couldn’t see her face because of the hooded sweatshirt she wore, but he could see the dark hair spilling out of the hood and down her chest. He expected her to come up the stairs again to deliver his Secret Stranger gift, but instead she went across to the center portion of the complex towards the lobby, with the elevator straight up to Lannister’s.

Lannister, who was always bird-watching at his window with a pair of binoculars yet couldn’t tell a black-capped chickadee from a white-breasted nuthatch. Roose had previously dismissed him as a man whose good looks, charm and money had allowed him far more success than his shortage of brains warranted. Clearly, Lannister had wanted to be underestimated just as Roose had used his own unremarkable looks to fade into the background.

Lannister’s windows were dark. _Of course they would be._ Roose himself sat in a darkened apartment, the better not to be noticed as he observed the complex.

A few moments after the Gilly girl crept across the courtyard, Roose saw another figure leave Lannister’s part of the complex and walk the diagonal concrete walkway across the dead lawn to the other side of the building. He would have mistaken the tall blonde figure in the workout jacket for a man if he weren’t already familiar with Brienne Tarth.

Had Lannister gotten some alert that his co-conspirator was coming upstairs and found a way to convince his paramour to leave? Or was she in on it too? He needed more information. He’d make a call and hopefully have a report back by the end of the day. But he wouldn’t wait for the results to take action. It was time to do a thorough inspection of their bathrooms to make sure their toilets hadn’t been rigged. He’d been forced to ignore nature’s call until he arrived at the office yesterday morning to take his prolonged break in the “reading room.” And Walda had made that prune cake…

The Tarth woman glanced up at his window. He pulled back further into the shadows. Surely she hadn’t spotted him.

***

Brienne glanced up at the Boltons’ window for a moment. She caught a brief glimpse of Doctor Bolton; then he stepped away from the window. She hunkered down into her workout jacket, feeling like she was doing the collegiate “walk of shame.”

But there was nothing to be ashamed of. If it had been Jaime walking from her place, he probably would have whistled and waved at the neighbors. He felt no need to hide their relationship. Why should she? They were both adults. There was nothing wrong with anything they were doing, absolutely nothing wrong at all, even it was a little kinky. Last night with the sex swing had been enjoyable. More than enjoyable. Amazing, in fact. Her face flamed at the memory. She glanced up again.

Doctor Bolton probably wasn’t even looking at her. He was probably doing a weather check before his morning workout. Brienne had once crossed his path on her morning run, and he had a level of physical fitness she wouldn’t have expected in a veterinarian that specialized in household pets. Maybe he worked with larger animals as well.

She let herself into her apartment. It was quiet; clearly everyone else was sleeping the hard-earned sleep of the end of semester. She was about to set up coffee when she spotted the gifts on the table.

Neither of the gifts was labeled. She spotted the cards on the floor. One was for her and one was for Sansa. It was easy to tell which was which; one was wrapped in the same wrapping paper Jaime had used for all his sexy gifts to her. “You sneak,” she murmured with a small smile. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night to put it on her doorstep, and one of the girls must have brought it inside. She sat down to unwrap it.

As she neatly pulled the tape off the wrapping paper, she noticed a peek of black and white stripes underneath. _Oh, no_ , she thought to herself. With a feeling of dread, she kept unwrapping, revealing the trademark black and white striped box.

She stared at the elegant gift box like it was her worst enemy. _Might as well get it over with_ , she thought, and opened the clever self-sealing flaps.

It was like one of those terrible recurring nightmares, like the one where she’d entered the Little Miss Westeros pageant. There, nestled in a pile of red tissue was the Sephora “39 Shades of Winter” palette.

This gift wasn’t from Jaime. They’d talked about cosmetics one night after seeing a lipstick commercial. He’d said he preferred a natural look to all that makeup and that he thought her face were perfect as is. He’d been a bit too enthusiastic showing her just how much he liked her unglossed lips and they’d fallen off the couch, re-injuring his knee. No, this gift wasn’t from him.

The sense of dread in her stomach just got worse. If this gift wasn’t from Jaime, was it possible that all the other gifts weren’t from Jaime either? If not him, from whom?

She shoved the present into the bathroom closet and made coffee. The other gifts were from Jaime, she decided. They had to have been. It was inconceivable that they could be from anyone else, and it was just coincidence that this gift, which was clearly the exact same makeup kit she’d given Gilly just two days ago, was in the same wrapping paper. The other presents had to be from Jaime. No one else in the complex would… She blushed at the thought. She had to put this out of her mind; she had her own gift to secretly drop off at Davos’s doorstep.

***

The sun was just starting to turn the sky to azure when Davos glanced out the window. Lannister’s living room lights were out, which probably meant the lad was still sleeping. As Davos well knew, the body demanded a lot of sleep as it healed.

When Davos had last seen Jaime, the young man had been wincing in pain. Davos knew what that was like. He also knew that you couldn’t take ibuprofen forever; he’d once wound up with stomach bleeding from taking it too long. Inside Davos’s nicely wrapped package was the best-reviewed home TENS unit he’d been able to find. The electrodes, properly placed, would ease the pain by overstimulating the nerves. Davos had used it himself to alleviate pain from a pinched nerve with great results. It was a little pricey, but he’d managed to get a great deal from a fellow eBay seller. He knew Maiden’s Eve was usually a time for sweet gifts, but what could be sweeter than the absence of pain?

What would have been sweeter for Davos was if Sal had sent him an email saying he had another taker for the cabin on the gay cruise. But alas, it was not to be. Davos would have put the coveted cruise cabin on eBay if the site hadn’t had restrictions against the reselling of trips.

And he had another issue weighing on him. He’d found a note from Selyse in Shireen’s backpack, and there was something about the religious tenor of the note, the way it said that Shireen needed to purge the evil from herself or R’hllor would burn it out of her, that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Not to mention that it was written in a dry, brown ink that seemed to flake away from the paper.

He grabbed Jaime’s cheerfully wrapped gift and banished thoughts of the cruise and Selyse from his mind. Davos trotted down the steps and nearly walked right into Brienne as he opened the door to the courtyard. He quickly tucked the gift behind his back so she wouldn’t see it.

“Brienne!” he said. “Is your Winter’s Seven still full of surprises?”

“You have no idea,” Brienne said, standing with her hands behind her back as she often did. She was blushing, although Davos had started to think of blushing as her default state. The red in her face did nothing to distract from the fresh hickey on her neck. “And yours? Did Shireen enjoy Mother’s Eve?”

“Yes, although I think she’s sorry to have missed the toilet explosion,” Davos said. “I received a notice yesterday asking if I’d had any trouble with my plumbing in preparation for a potential class-action suit against the contractor. Funny last name — Redwine, I think?”

Brienne’s eyes went wide. “Olenna Redwyne?”

“That’s it,” Davos said, snapping the fingers of his free hand.

“That’s Margaery’s grandmother,” Brienne said, chewing on her bottom lip. “She owns their unit.”

“Ah, I see,” Davos said, shifting his grip on the box behind his back. He was holding it with his mutilated hand; it would have been easier if he’d used the other one. Too late now, of course. He considered asking if she and Jaime were looking for a cruise and just as quickly rejected the thought. If she blushed while talking to Davos, she’d turn positively vermillion at the things she would see on the cruise. Jaime didn’t strike him as the sort to want a woman with a prudish streak but people were always full of surprises. “Well, we’re all looking forward to the party at Jaime’s house tomorrow night for Stranger’s Eve,” he said. He gestured with his head toward the lobby. “I just need to go…check the mail. Should have done it yesterday, but I got distracted with Stannis and Shireen leaving on their camping trip,” he said.

It was a terrible excuse, but Brienne didn’t even seem to notice the lie. “And I need to go speak to Walda. About cookies. For the party,” she said, her face even more red.

It wasn’t like cookies were anything to be embarrassed about. Unless, perhaps, she had a problem like Stannis’s. It didn’t matter — he needed to drop off the package on Jaime’s doorstep before the man’s light came on. He pivoted awkwardly, still shielding the gift he held with his body. “Well, be seeing you,” he said.

Brienne turned as he did, her hands still clasped behind her back. “And you,” she said. As she turned toward the door, he glimpsed something silver-and-blue in her hands. _I wonder which Bolton she’s Secret Stranger to?_ he thought.

*******

Margaery heard someone’s footsteps on the other stairwell that led to the lobby as she walked down the hallway on the first floor, but that person was going up, not down. Normally she would have scurried back to the lobby and lingered to see whether it was someone’s Secret Stranger, but she found herself too concerned about her failed attempt at planning a getaway to think of anything else. The good news was that she’d found them someplace warm to stay in Dorne. The bad news was that it wasn’t a beach resort – it was a “family friendly” resort near “The Realm of the Rhoynar,” that living history place where historians recreated what it was like to live in Dorne just after Nymeria’s time. So much for nude sunbathing on the beach. Maybe she could get Sansa to dress up as a sexy Andal princess…

When Margaery got back to Brienne’s apartment, she felt defeated and had a caffeine withdrawal headache to boot. She’d been so proud of her cleverness, building up all these hotel points in order to whisk Sansa away on a glorious escape. Now it looked like the romance of their getaway would be replaced with historians dressed in hand-woven cloth and the shrieks of overexcited children at dawn. _At least there’s that exhibition that recreates Dorne’s first winemaking_ , Margaery thought. She just hoped they had an adults-only evening event where they’d serve the stuff.

She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when she felt Sansa’s arms wind around her waist. “I got your Maiden’s Eve gift this morning,” Sansa murmured.

Something in the way she said it made a little thrill race down Margaery’s spine. “I have to admit there was a lot of self-interest in that gift,” she said, relieved that Sansa wasn’t angry about the hidden message of Margaery giving her a make-up palette of her own. “I was worried you might be offended.”

Sansa giggled. “I’m not offended. I’m just sorry that we have to wait for me to try it on for you. I’ve always wanted to be a sexy Dothraki warrior maid.”

Margaery’s eyes went wide. If Sansa had taken Brienne’s gift, that meant Brienne, who clearly already had issues around people pushing her to be feminine, had gotten the makeup kit. “Oh, gods,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked from behind her.

Margaery plastered a smile on her face and held up her cup. “Too much cream in my coffee,” she said, holding up the mug and then emptying the contents down the drain. “I lost my head when I thought about you in that outfit.”

“As if I wasn’t excited enough about our trip,” Sansa said. She gave Margaery another hug. “I’ll give you a sneak preview later — I just need to drop off my Secret Stranger gift first.”

***

Gift successfully delivered, Davos walked down the ground floor corridor to the stairwell on his side of the building, mind wandering as he tried to figure out how to talk to Stannis about Shireen. He rounded the corner and nearly ran straight into Sansa Stark. She squeaked; he grabbed her before she could fall. “It seems to be my fate to run into the women in the complex today,” he said with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just going up to check with Doctor Bolton about my cat. I think he’s suffered emotional trauma from the toilet explosion. Ser Whiskers, I mean, not Doctor Bolton.”

Davos could tell she was trying to hide something by the way she was stammering. He considered of all the thoughtful gifts he’d received over the past week and patted her on the shoulder. “Well. Thank you. For the run-in, I mean.” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Say, were you and Margaery looking for a getaway during your winter break? Perhaps somewhere warm?”

“We’re already going!” Sansa said, bouncing up and down on her toes with delight. “Margaery has it all planned, but she hasn’t told me where yet. It was supposed to be a surprise. But she’s already given me something to wear.”

Ah, well. It had been a long shot. “Well,” he said. “See you tomorrow night at the party, then,” he said.

“Yes. It’s going to be the most beautiful and cozy Stranger’s Eve party you’ve ever been to,” Sansa said.

Davos was surprised to hear Sansa call one of Walda’s events “beautiful” given the sniping he’d heard earlier in the week with regards to Walda’s decorating tastes, but perhaps the two women had mended fences when Walda had agreed to take over the party for Sansa. “I look forward to it,” he said.

As he expected, Sansa’s gift was waiting for him on his doorstep. He opened it as soon as he got inside. It was a pound of natural rock sugar for tea. He opened the beautiful glass container and sniffed. He hadn’t realized Sansa was quite so observant, but maybe Brienne had mentioned that he preferred tea to coffee. One thing was sure; no one could fault Sansa’s taste.

***

Walda put the last of the decorations in a shopping bag triumphantly. She’d been so worried about how this party would turn out, but of course the Seven would find a way to rescue the Secret Stranger party from that well-meaning but aesthetically-misguided Sansa Stark.

When she opened the door, there were gifts waiting on the floor mat — a small box for Roose and a heavy box for Walda. As she took the boxes inside, she saw a flyer sticking out from underneath the mat and grabbed that too.

Walda put the flyer and Roose’s gift on the sideboard and ripped open her own. She let out a squeak as she saw what was inside — the brand new Happiness with Hot Pie bundt cake pan! He’d done a whole episode on it just the other day!

“Are you all right?” Roose called from down the hall.

“Fine,” Walda said. She wanted to glow about the bakeware, but she’d noticed that Roose didn’t seem as excited about her Secret Stranger gifts as she did. _Maybe he wouldn’t have to feel jealous if he’d just get me that KitchenAid mixer,_ she thought. There was a note with the gift. _Be at your apartment at 2pm tomorrow for a special Stranger’s Eve surprise,_ it said. She couldn’t imagine what her Stranger had in store for her next — and she was relieved she’d decided to decorate Jaime’s place today, so she wouldn’t have to rush around in the morning before the final gift arrived. She slid the box of bakeware into a kitchen cabinet and glanced at the flyer on the sideboard. “Roosie, did you see this?” she asked. “Someone’s asking if we’ve had any plumbing problems.”

“Yes,” her husband said, coming out from the bathroom. He had a toolbox in hand. “Walda, I’d like to give you your Stranger’s Eve surprise a day early.”

Walda smoothed down her dress, twined her hair around one finger flirtatiously, and glanced out the window. “I’d like that, but can we maybe do it this evening?” she asked. She’d spent so much time getting dressed up in her special party-decorating outfit, she didn’t want to have to take it off just to put it on again. Not to mention having to put back on all the lipstick Roose would kiss off.

Roose smiled. “That wasn’t the surprise I intended. I know you’ve wanted to redecorate our bathrooms for a long time. How would you like to do it from the ground up?”

Walda raised her hands to her mouth in delighted shock. “A full renovation? Really? But Roosie, you said it would cause too much chaos!”

“We can use one bathroom while the other one is under construction. I have a contractor I know from…before I became a veterinarian. He’s quick but a very thorough worker,” Roose said.

Walda flung herself into Roose’s arms. “Oh, Roosie! That is the best Stranger’s Eve surprise ever!” She was delighted — although a part of her was hoping in her heart of hearts that he’d gotten her the KitchenAid mixer, too.

***

As Sansa poured herself a cup of herbal tea, she glanced out the window to see Walda walking across the courtyard carrying gigantic shopping bags bulging with painfully elegant Winter’s Seven decorations. Sansa slammed her fist on the counter so hard that her teacup jumped and the spoon rattled.

Brienne looked up from her laptop, blue eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“That Walda Bolton,” Sansa said. “Stannis said we weren’t allowed to decorate the public areas, but apparently the rules don’t apply to _her_.”

“Oh. I don’t think she’s decorating the public areas. I think she’s going to Jaime’s to decorate for tomorrow’s Stranger’s Eve party.”

“For the Stranger’s Eve party? For _my_ Stranger’s Eve party, the party that I’m running?” Sansa was nearly shouting by the end.

Brienne pulled back into the couch. “She sent around a notice. I thought you knew. I thought she did it to help you.”

Now Sansa was seeing a very un-Winter’s Seven color: red. “She didn’t do it to help me. She’s been trying to take over the Stranger’s Eve party all along, and now she snuck around and tried to steal it from under me!” Sansa grabbed her own bags of Winter’s Seven decorations. “She messed with the wrong woman.”

As Sansa marched out the door she heard Brienne say, “I’ll text Jaime.”

*******

Jaime looked at the messy barbecue sandwich, bacon bourbon barbecue baked beans, and bacon potato salad on his plate. It probably was too salty, too unhealthy, too fattening, but he’d had quite a workout with Brienne last night. He deserved it. Once he was able to use his new P90X equipment, his abs would be rock hard again in no time. The TENS unit Brienne had left on his doorstep as his “Secret Stranger” gift had already helped alleviate the pain in his knee; he could almost get around like a normal person again. He just couldn’t figure out how she’d managed to leave it on his doorstep on her way out.

He licked the dripping sauce from the side of the sandwich as he settled into the couch, then opened his laptop to log into Amazon for some last-minute holiday shopping. Before he could take a bite of pulled pork heaven, he heard a knock at the door. He grinned hopefully. Maybe it was Brienne coming to share his lunch. He opened the door and was disappointed to see a different blonde facing him.

“Good afternoon, Jaime!” Walda Bolton said in her high, cheerful voice. She had several large bags in her hand. “I wanted to get an early start on decorating for the Secret Stranger party. I’ll have a lot of baking to do before the party tomorrow, and a special surprise coming from my Stranger.”

Was the party tomorrow? Then the Lannister dinner he was hosting must be on Monday. Everything was falling into place perfectly; now he’d have decorations for the party and he wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.

“Have at,” he said lazily, settling back down on the couch. “Just so long as you don’t ask me to move.”

“You’ll hardly even know I’m here,” Walda said. She hummed a jaunty tune and began to take decorations out of her bags as he picked up his plate, ready to bite into mounds of succulent pork dripping with sauce. She pulled out a beige cloth and held it up for a moment before tilting her head and smiling at him. “This’ll just take a minute. Would you mind standing up?”

 _The sooner I move, the sooner she’ll be gone,_ Jaime thought to himself. He stood up — and she draped the cloth across his boldly colored couch. It was a colorless slipcover embroidered with beige flowers, the colors so similar that the pattern was more notable by texture than color.

“I agreed to allow you to decorate, not _re_ decorate,” Jaime said. He could hear his phone buzzing a text message notification. He glanced at it and saw Brienne’s bright blue eyes on the screen. His instinct was to read it immediately, but he knew if he backed off even for a just a moment, Walda would take over.

“These decorations just won’t ‘pop’ without a neutral palette,” Walda said, tucking the fabric in over his couch.

“I know something else that ‘pops’ against a neutral palette.” Jaime picked up his barbecue sandwich from the plate on the coffee table and held it over the slipcover. Drops of red-orange sauce trembled at the edge of the meat.

“You wouldn’t!” Walda said. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at his face, and she yanked off the cloth, unveiling his couch once again.

“I see we understand each other,” Jaime said, picking up his plate and sitting down. He took a big bite of his sandwich just for emphasis.

“Well, I have plenty of other beautiful decorations in these bags that will work with your decor,” she said, glancing around the room. “Somehow.”

Jaime licked barbecue sauce off his fingers and picked up the phone to call his Wench. As he did, there was a loud, pounding knock at the door.

It sounded like that ham-handed Robert Baratheon. Jaime knew the man’s disappearance was too good to be true. He put the phone down with a sigh and went to the door.

Again he was surprised. It wasn’t the overlarge Robert that stood on the other side of his door, but tiny Sansa Stark. Her face was pale except for the two bright red dots on her cheeks and her sharp little smile. “I’m here to decorate for the Secret Stranger party,” she announced.

Jaime opened the door and motioned her in. “Like I said to Walda, you can do whatever you want so long as I don’t have to move,” he said.

Walda looked at Sansa, her mouth wide open. She spluttered, “Sansa! Well…what a surprise to see you here. I thought you were too busy with your home —”

Jaime went back to his couch. This was all very entertaining, but it was even better with lunch. He picked up his fork to dig into the beans, thinking he didn’t even need his binoculars.

“You mean you thought I was too distracted to notice that you were trying to steal this party right out from under me!” Sansa said, placing her decorations emphatically on the floor.

Sansa had a point. Jaime recalled how the _White Book of Westeros History_ detailed the Freys and how they had swooped in to take over parts of Westeros while the more powerful Riverlands lords were busy with large-scale wars. The Bolton’s mailbox listed her as “Walda Frey Bolton” — he’d be willing to bet she was one of those Freys. He grinned to himself. Maybe she was more suited to Serial Killer than he first thought.

“Now, Sansa, you’re overwrought,” Walda said patronizingly. “And I understand why, what with —”

“What with you trying to take over my party!” Sansa Stark was an intimidating woman when she shouted. Jaime wondered if she’d gotten it from her mother. He took a bite of his sandwich and enjoyed the show. He wasn’t getting any shopping done, but this was fun.

“Well, I’ve already gotten started,” Walda said firmly, “and I know you need the time for other things. I’m sure Mr. Lannister wants this party to be elegant —”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Jaime said, putting down his sandwich.

“— and I have just the thing here,” Walda said, putting a bag on the coffee table.

“What, in three different tones of silver?” Sansa snapped. She shoved the bag, knocking it against Jaime’s plate and sending his lunch flying. The top bun landed on his chest while the rest of his sandwich landed with a moist splat in his lap, smearing his favorite jeans with barbecue sauce. A hail of beans and potato salad fell to the floor with enough force to create tiny explosions of sauce everywhere. Both women froze.

He looked up at them slowly. “All right, that’s it,” Jaime, now perfumed in eau de barbecue, said, slapping his one clean thigh as he stood. “My house, my rules. You have two minutes to figure out how to work together or the party is back in the ping-pong room.”

“But it’s a health hazard!” Walda said in horror.

“But it’s my party!” Sansa said stamping her foot.

“You both should have thought of that before you ruined my lunch. And my jeans,” Jaime said. “Work together.”

“I can’t combine my decorating with hers!” Walda said. “It has to be harmonious. Neutral —”

“Fine. We’ll split it down the middle. You get the side with the windows,” Jaime said, pointing at Sansa, “you get the wall,” he said, pointing at Walda.

“Your windows are wall-to-wall! I can’t hang anything on that!” Sansa protested.

“Fine, we’ll split it the other way. You get that half of the room, you get the other half,” Jaime said.

“Then I don’t have access to the kitchen,” Walda said, folding her arms. “And I’ve already planned —”

“What, cupcakes? Cookies?” Sansa turned on her. “Are you even capable of making anything without refined sugar? I planned _healthy_ snacks, because I know some of our neighbors like Brienne and Stannis like eating healthy things.”

“I’ll have you know, Stannis loves my cookies!” Walda said. “Just because you can’t stand a little sweetness doesn’t mean other people can’t have some.”

Jaime grabbed two bags of decorations, one of Sansa’s and one of Walda’s, and hobbled toward the wall of windows. “Ladies, make a civil decision now or your decorations are going out the window,” Jaime said.

“But she’s the one trying to take over!”

“But she’s the one who threw something!”

Jaime opened the window, letting in a cold draft of air, and thrust the bags outside. “Do I look like I care? You both ruined my lunch.” His knee ached as he held the bags over the forty-foot drop ready to fling them into the courtyard. “You have ten seconds to work it out. Ten…nine…”

“We can divide it into four quadrants,” Sansa said quickly. “Each of us gets one quadrant with a window, one quadrant with the wall and half the pass-through into the kitchen. I’ll take that one and that one.” She pointed at the windowed corner with the bookcase abutting the kitchen and the diagonally opposing corner.

Walda glanced, and then made a _hmmph_ noise. “Then _you_ get the entryway. That hardly seems fair.”

“Fair? This was _my_ party —”

“Three,” said Jaime shaking the bags to remind each what they had to lose. “Two.”

“All right, all right!” Walda conceded. “I agree. And I brought masking tape.”

“I have a tape measure,” Sansa said. “I’ll make sure we each get exactly the same amount of the room. No more, no less.”

Jaime pulled the bags in and dumped them on the floor.

Walda gasped. “My ornaments!”

“Shagga!” Sansa squealed, reaching for a rusty ornament that looked vaguely like a stag.

Jaime picked up the phone and hit the third number on his speed dial. “Gilly? How’d you like to make an extra few bucks for an emergency clean up?” He glanced at the women, both on their knees glaring at each other as they gathered the spilled decorations. “And maybe a little house-sitting.”

***

“Daddy, why is someone holding bags out the window?” Shireen asked, pointing up at the windows to Lannister’s unit.

Stannis looked. His eyes narrowed. “That is against our codes,” he said.

“Codes?” Shireen asked.

“Rules,” Stannis said. “There is a book of rules that everyone must abide by.” Lannister pulled the bags inside the window. Stannis kept an eye on it, but there didn’t seem to be any more funny business going on.

“Rules. Is it like the rules for Winter’s Seven, where you have to do something to go with the theme every day?” Shireen asked.

“Somewhat. When people break the rules they are fined. Charged money,” Stannis said.

“Hmmm,” Shireen said. “Daddy, today is Maiden’s Eve,” Shireen said.

“I know,” Stannis said, shifting the bag of camping supplies on his shoulder. The condominium council required two witnesses or photographic evidence to fine a tenant for misbehavior. Would the council consider Shireen a witness, given her age? Lannister’s rule-breaking could not be tolerated.

“We’re supposed to have something sweet for Maiden’s Eve,” Shireen said. “I want to bake cookies.”

“Perhaps something else,” Stannis said, patting his daughter on the shoulder. He’d already told her they would not be attending the Many-Faced God masquerade ball and orgy. Strangely, she hadn’t even asked him to define orgy. “Maybe we could make a cake.”

“No,” Shireen said, her little jaw clenched. Stannis wondered if Davos felt like this when his partner looked at him. “Cookies.”

***

Yesterday Gilly had taken the number 39 bus to the 756 bus in order to get out to the little godswood nestled in a leafy park in King’s Landing’s wealthy, outlying Rosby neighborhood. She’d prayed and prayed, like she’d told that Shireen girl was all that needed to be done. She even bought a scratch ticket on the way home to give the Old Gods a chance to answer her desperate pleas, but she didn’t win.

She’d gotten an email from the Grant Management office. Her request had been approved by Doctor Lannister and she could pick up the check on Monday. She’d also gotten notice that she was almost out of minutes on her cell phone. She didn’t have a fancy phone, just a pre-paid one. She’d have to hoard her minutes better. No miracle was going to happen for her, and even if it did, it’d probably wind up in the mail to her address in the North and her dad would take that from her too.

And so Gilly lay in bed Saturday afternoon, staring at the ceiling. She could get out of bed, but what would be the point? School cost money. Food cost money. The folks in King’s Landing practically charged people to breathe — and come to think of it she’d seen something called an “oxygen bar” in the touristy Street of the Sisters, so clearly they’d found a way to charge for that too.

All she wanted to do was stay in bed and pull the covers over her head, but her pesky bladder was making it difficult. If she walked down the hall to the bathroom, though, someone would spot her. She’d heard Sansa and Margaery earlier, and now she could hear Brienne puttering around. She couldn’t face Brienne’s well-meaning questions. But her bladder wasn’t going to let her hide in here much longer. Oh, why wouldn’t the Gods, any of them, send her a miracle?

Suddenly her phone rang, using up her precious minutes. She picked it up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded clogged and scratchy.

“Gilly? How’d you like to make an extra few bucks for an emergency clean up?” she heard Jaime Lannister say.

“I’ll be right over,” she said, sitting up. She could hear some sort of ruckus in the background, some women crying and wailing. “Is everything OK, Jaime?”

“Everything except for my barbecue sandwich,” Jaime said. “Get here soon. I’ll order enough take-out for two.” He hung up. She was glad he always made his calls to her short. No wasted minutes there.

The money wouldn’t be enough to pay that credit card bill, but maybe if she could come up with half, they’d give her more time to pay. Maybe she could get Jaime to recommend that she clean his father’s house. Maybe his father lived in a big house. Maybe she could charge him a pretty penny. Maybe she could find some way out of this. Maybe…

She scooched to the bathroom, cleaning up in record time. As she sprinted back to her bedroom, Brienne called out, “Gilly? Is everything all right?”

“Jaime just called me for an emergency clean-up,” Gilly said, skidding to a halt. “Y’know why there’d be a bunch of women wailing in his apartment?”

Brienne sighed and shook her head. “It’s Walda. And Sansa. They’re fighting over the Stranger’s Eve party, I think.”

“Fighting over who has to do it?” Gilly asked.

“Fighting over who _gets_ to do it,” Brienne said.

“Why?” Gilly said. Her sisters sometimes fought over who’d decorate the trailer park, but it always just seemed too much effort to her.

“I don’t understand it either, Gilly, but some people find it very important,” she said. She set her laptop aside and stood up. “I should go over there and help Jaime.”

“Sounded like he had it all under control,” Gilly said, not wanting Brienne to do any of Jaime’s cleaning. She needed to earn that money. “You know he’d call you if he needed you. And besides, didn’t you say you had to go shopping for a special Stranger’s Eve gift for him?”

Brienne put her hands over her face. “The mall,” she groaned. “Twice in one week. I try not to go twice in one _year._ ”

Gilly wasn’t sure why Brienne hated the mall so much. On the one hand the stores in King’s Landing were mostly expensive, but on the other they were full of pretty lights for the holidays, singers and musicians performing, the smell of hot baked goods, and best of all, lots of people giving out free samples. Some Saturdays Gilly went to Whole Foods and made a lunch out of free samples, then went to the Old Gate Galleria and took every free sample of hand cream, cookies, and whatnot that they were handing out while listening to the live performers. One day there had even been a free sneak preview for a movie. It wasn’t a good movie, and she’d had to fill out a survey afterwards for “market research,” but still, it was free. She wouldn’t mind going for Brienne at all. Would it be wrong to charge for running errands? Maybe she could get a discount on her rent. “I could go for you later if you —”

“No. No,” Brienne said, dropping her hands down by her sides. “I need to find a gift for him myself. It doesn’t count if I don’t find it for him.”

That all seemed like a lot of pressure to Gilly. Jaime never seemed to care much what Brienne wore or ate or talked about, as long as Brienne was with him. She didn’t think he’d care much about a present neither. Gilly shook her head and went back to her room to change, then rushed across the courtyard to Jaime’s.

She’d expected the apartment to be filled with the sound of shrieking women, but instead it was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. The whole place reeked of vinegar and tomato. Masking tape divided the living room into four sections. It ran down the middle of a big table that had been set up against the wall. One side of the table showed natural wood. Sansa was putting glass mason jars with bits of tree branches sticking out of them on the table, all around a rusty homemade-looking statue of a stag. _Shagga the Shaggy Stag,_ Gilly guessed. Even she knew that cartoon; it was one bit of the Seven that made it up to the far North. The other side of the table was covered in a silver cloth, with another silver cloth in a slightly different weave on top, and a silver candelabra surrounded by mason jars filled with silver and glass balls. Walda was just wrapping a silver bow around the last jar.

Gilly followed the line of tape to the couch, half-expecting that Jaime would have a piece of tape dividing him down the middle, too. Instead he sat square in the middle of his couch, on top of the tape. The couch looked soaked wet with cleaner, but beneath she could see it was pockmarked with red stains, like someone had done a really sloppy job of painting polka dots. To one side of Jaime there were bright blue and silver throw pillows. The other side had blue and silver throw pillows too, but those were a little dingier and natural-looking. Between his feet on the carpet, she spotted a reddish-brown stain covered in carpet cleaning foam. She guessed that was what had become of the barbecue sandwich.

Jaime looked up at her as he reached into a pile of Pentoshi fries covered in red sauce. “Want one?” he asked, holding it out to her.

Gilly wrinkled her nose. They were covered in ketchup, of all things. Ketchup was to make soup broth taste good, not to put on fries. She longed for fries coated in a nice, warm, beefy gravy and sprinkled with cheese curds that squeaked between her teeth. She shook her head. “No, thank you.” It was important to be polite. “I don’t really like Pentoshi food.”

Jaime furrowed his brow. “You don’t like Pentoshi?” he asked, as if it was the most outlandish thing in the world. “What about Qarthian? Dothraki? Or a good Westerlands bar and grill?”

She wished he’d stop asking about her food choices and get out of her way. She needed to tidy the place good for the big party tomorrow. And she wanted to do it fast — the silence between Sansa and Walda sounded like the quiet before the storm, and she was sure one of those women would creep over the masking-tape line and start a fight. “I like good hardy Northern food. Meat pies.”

“What — like a chicken pot pie?” Jaime asked.

She shook her head. She’d tried one of those once. Brienne had made it. It weren’t bad but it was just a chicken stew with some sort of fancy flaky biscuit floating on top, not something full of meat and thick gelatinous gravy that you could hold in your hand and eat while you drove from one place to t’other. “Not so fancy as all that. Just a pasty. And pannukaku.”

“Like…pancake?” Jaime asked.

“No.” She felt dumb trying to explain. Her stomach twisted with hunger, or maybe with homesickness. “It’s custardy.” She shook her head and went into the kitchen, picking up a dishcloth. “I miss poutine,” she mumbled to herself. She began to scrub roughly at the counter.

She heard Jaime limp into the room. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm…is there even a restaurant around here that sells that?”

Gilly stared down at the dishrag in her hands. So that was it. He wanted to get her a dinner gift card thing for Maiden’s Eve. It was sweet, Jaime and Brienne buying her such nice things since her Secret Stranger had completely forgotten her. At first, she’d thought Jaime was just some rich guy who threw away money, but he was such a good boyfriend to Brienne, and now they were both so kind to her. Even though she knew they could afford it, sometimes it made Gilly uncomfortable, like she was some poor country cousin who needed charity. And she was. A gift card though, maybe that was something she could sell. Gilly gritted her teeth against the thought of selling her gifts, scrubbing far too vigorously at the stovetop. Jaime leaned against the counter.

“Gilly?” he asked. “If you’re not up to cleaning today —” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him fiddle awkwardly with the polystyrene container of fries. 

She shook her head, easing up on the counter. She gave it one last swipe and forced a smile on her face. She couldn’t afford not to do this. “Guess I’m just a little homesick is all, ‘cause of the holidays. I miss my sisters.” It was true, even if it wasn’t the only reason she felt bad.

Jaime tilted his head at her and grinned, “If you want a sister for Stranger’s Eve, I’ll give you mine. But remember, you’re not allowed to give a Stranger’s Eve gift back,” he finished in a sing-song voice, waggling a fry at her.

Gilly felt eternally grateful to him in that moment. He might have more money than sense, but he didn’t treat her like she was less just ‘cause she was poor. And he didn’t make fun of her neither.

“Did you get Brienne a Maiden’s Eve gift yet?” she asked, changing the subject.

“What makes you think I’ve been getting Brienne gifts?” he asked raising one eyebrow. How did these Southroners do that?

She shoo-ed him out of the way to get into the closet and fetch the vacuum. “Honestly Jaime?” She shook her head.

He shrugged. “So, I’ve been getting her gifts. She’s been getting me gifts too.” Gilly rolled her eyes again. Jaime Lannister, long on money, short on brains. He leaned on the island in the center of the kitchen and picked up another fry, twirling it between his fingers. The fries smelled unfinished to Gilly with no gravy scent to go with it. “I slacked off this morning, though. What should I get her for Maiden’s Eve? I was thinking a romantic dinner out? Lyseni food maybe? That’s romantic, right?”

Lyseni food, thought Gilly. Wasn’t that all raw fish bits and rice? Or was that Pykish food? She could never remember. “She’ll like wherever you take her ‘cause she likes you.”

Jaime grinned. “She does like me, doesn’t she?” He ate a fry.

“But aren’t you supposed to get her something sweet? I thought that was what Maiden’s Eve was all about,” Gilly said.

He pointed at her with another ketchup-coated fry, sending droplets of red all over the freshly-scrubbed counter. “You’re right,” he said.

“And you’re makin’ a mess,” Gilly said.

“Maybe I’ll take her out to that dessert restaurant,” he mused, eating the last few fries.

“Won’t there be an awful lot of people tryin’ to get in?” Gilly asked.

“I’m a Lannister. They’ll save me a table,” he said, licking a spot of ketchup off his finger.

From the other room, Gilly heard Sansa murmur something to Walda. Walda said something back in her honey-coated way, and Sansa’s voice got sharper.

“Not again,” Jaime said.

“It’s like my sisters Sissy and Ferny. You just gotta ignore ‘em, let ‘em fight it out,” Gilly said.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder. “Since they remind you so much of your sisters, do you think you could stay here for a while and stop them if they start breaking things or rearranging my furniture?” He grabbed his keys off the hook under the message board and then ran his finger over the strip of photobooth pictures of him and Brienne kissing that was tacked up there. Brienne had one on her fridge as well, but that one was surely taken before the kissing had started. He glanced distrustfully at the ladies in the living room and took the photo down, folding it at the picture break and sticking it in his thick wallet. That wallet probably held enough dragons to pay her whole credit card bill. “Make sure they don’t strangle each other with tinsel? Keep them out of my bedroom too? I still need to get Brienne something for Stranger’s Eve.”

Gilly grimaced. It really wasn’t how she wanted to spend her Saturday, but if Jaime was willing to pay, she’d watch over Walda and Sansa. “You bet,” Gilly said. She remembered her conversation with Brienne about the mall and quickly added, “You should go to Flea Bottom. That’s where there are all those people making all that handmade stuff. You don’t wanna get her something at Old Gate Galleria. Everyone’s gonna be getting stuff from there.”

Jaime tossed the empty takeout container in the trash. “Good point,” he said. He glanced into the living room again. “I still need to order that hand-carved bowl for her.”

Gilly poked at him with the vacuum hose. “Out with you. It’s going to be enough working around those two. I can’t get the cleaning done if you keep yammering away at me, and this place needs to be spic and span for tomorrow.”

Jaime nodded. “Yes, and then all over again for dinner with dear old Dad.”

Gilly cocked her head at him. Hadn’t he said it was a Stranger’s Eve dinner with his father? Was he doing both on the same day? She was not even going to step into that fray. The decorating war between Walda and Sansa was minefield enough. She could hear their voices getting higher pitched in the other room.

”Well, I’m off. Thanks Gilly.” He limped into the living room; Gilly wheeled the vacuum cleaner out there in his wake. Sansa and Walda were locked in a grim contest of tug-o-war, trying to wrest some sparkly decoration from each other’s hands. He dodged them like his knee wasn’t hardly bothering him and grabbed his coat. “Where are you from again?” he asked.

“Just south of Hardhomme,” she answered, trying to keep the wistfulness out of her voice. It was then that she realized he wasn’t going to pay her right away.

She watched him wrap himself in a scarf and rich leather gloves and tried to find the words. Asking for money was so awkward, especially when there were other people in the room.

He flashed her a grin. “Oh Gilly, I left an envelope for you under the toaster. Happy Winter’s Seven.” And then he grabbed his crutch and was out the door.

She went back in the kitchen and pulled the envelope from under the toaster. It was thicker than normal. She looked inside. She counted the bills; it was her regular pay and an extra five hundred dragons. _Five hundred dragons!_ That was more money than she’d ever had at one time. There was a Post-It note attached, _A little extra for the holidays_ , it read. _A little extra!_ Gilly did cry then, not even noticing as the two women in the living room started beating each other with shiny ornaments. The Gods — and Jaime — had given her that miracle.

***

Once again, Brienne ran into Davos in the courtyard. At least she wasn’t carrying his gift this time.

“Ah, Brienne. Heading out?” he asked.

“To the mall,” she said. She felt her shoulders tense, and could not push away the memory of standing on stage at another mall, surrounded by silver glitter and the jeers of the crowd…

“So am I,” Davos said, snapping her back to reality. “Last-minute Stranger’s Eve shopping for you, too?”

“Yes,” Brienne said, still unsure of what to get Jaime.

“You try to plan ahead, but you never can predict the land mines in the road of life,” Davos said. “We still need to get a Maiden’s Eve gift for Shireen. I have no idea what an eleven-year-old girl would want.”

“I think I do,” Brienne said. She remembered how delighted Shireen had been when the women at the Mother’s Eve party had decided to make her over. “I actually have something that will work well. If you don’t mind re-gifting?”

“Waste not want not,” Davos said.

She led him into her apartment. “There’s been quite an explosion of femininity in here,” Davos said, looking around.

Brienne looked around herself, seeing it with an outsider’s eyes. Sansa’s delicate cardigan was draped over the back of the couch, her knitting bag on the floor. Three pairs of Margaery’s heels were lined up next to the door. The whole place smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. Brienne looked over the holiday decorations Sansa had left on the table and shrugged. “I told Margaery and Sansa they could stay here for a few days. It’s a little tight for four people, especially with Sansa planning the Stranger’s Eve party. But it’s just for the week.”

“Sansa is planning the Stranger’s Eve party? But Walda told me she’s taken it over,” Davos said.

“I think they’re working on it together,” Brienne said. At least, that’s what she assumed Jaime’s text of ‘Have negotiated a truce. Didn’t even have to take up arms’ meant. She went in to the bathroom, digging into the closet. “I have that gift right here.”

“Sansa and Walda? Together?” Davos grinned. “I think I know how he did it. Stannis saw Jaime holding two bags full of decorations out his window. It’s against our CCRs, you know.”

“Oh, he’s not going to fine Jaime, is he?” Brienne asked.

“No, I talked him out of it,” Davos said.

“Because it’s the holidays?” Brienne asked, grabbing the gift.

“No, because he didn’t have photographic evidence,” Davos said. “A little thing like Winter’s Seven wouldn’t stop Stannis in his fight for justice.”

“Here,” Brienne said, handing over the black and white box that kept coming back to her like a boomerang. “She really enjoyed having the ladies make her over at Mother’s Eve, and this has enough colors to keep her occupied for a while.”

Davos opened the box. “Thirty-nine Shades of Winter,” he said. “This can’t have been cheap. You must let me pay you back.”

“No!” Brienne said. “Please, take it. I’ll never use it and I’d prefer that it goes to someone who wants it. The gift box seals on its own with magnets. All you need to do is tie a ribbon around it.”

“Well,” Davos said, patting the box with his hand. “You’ve saved me a trip to the mall. I wish I could return the favor. Don’t suppose you and Lannister are interested in going on a cruise next week?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve got a call with someone in the Vale a little later about a job for that week,” she said.

“Ah, well,” Davos said, shrugging. “Just remember that I owe you a favor.”

Brienne wished she could ask him the favor of going to the mall for her.

***

“I have never baked cookies,” Stannis said as his daughter brought up a recipe on the laptop. He wished Davos was here, but his partner had left for the mall rather than help them bake. _Traitor_ , he thought.

“I have,” Shireen said. “And we have to honor the Maiden today, Daddy.” She measured out flour, then sugar. Then she cut the butter. “It’s your job to mix the butter in with everything else,” she said, handing him a bowl.

Stannis understood why as soon as he started. It required a fair amount of strength to mix them together. Now it made sense why Walda Bolton seemed to have unusually broad shoulders for such a small woman.

Shireen finished mixing in the chocolate chips and nuts, then formed the dough into little balls. “I did not know you could cook,” he said.

“I do it a lot,” she said, then looked up at her father and turned red, lips pressed tight, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

“Do you cook with your mother?” he asked.

“No,” she said, looking down at the baking sheet.

He gripped the counter tightly. “Have you been cooking dinner for yourself?” he asked carefully. It was specified that Selyse would feed Shireen three meals a day when Shireen was with her. It was in their agreement. Three _nutritionally-appropriate_ meals.

She put a cookie firmly down on the pan. “Mommy’s been fasting. For R’hllor,” she said. “I don’t like fasting. Sometimes I cook when she goes to bed.”

Stannis gritted his teeth. It was worse than he thought.

“Would you help me?” Shireen asked.

“Yes!” he said, thinking she was asking about her mother. She held out the bowl of dough.

Clumsily, he rolled the dough into balls while she chattered away. Soon, the apartment filled with the scent of fresh-baked goods. When the cookies came out of the oven, she looked at them and then up at him. “These are for you, Daddy,” she said, pushing the entire pan toward him.

He looked at the cookies his sweet Shireen had just made for him. Yesterday, he would have scorched his mouth as he ate them all. “Those are quite a lot for just me,” he said, remembering the sound of the wolves outside the tent. “Perhaps you and I can share them with Davos.”

Shireen looked up at him and smiled. He reached down and wiped a bit of flour from her cheek.

***

Jaime sat in the back of the taxi as it fought its way through the twisty, narrow, hipster-crowded streets of Fleabottom. Gilly was right. The dessert place was booked. They were willing to add another table for a Lannister, but Brienne really didn’t like crowds. When they’d gone to see her favorite television show at the IMax, she hadn’t liked the packed theater. She’d had a good time though, clutching at his hand when the dragons came on the screen, her blue eyes glowing.

He needed to find something more private for them to do tonight. Cooking dinner was probably out of the question; he felt like two warring families had conquered his apartment and divided the spoils. Walda and Sansa had most likely marked off the kitchen as well. But it was Maiden’s Eve — the night for sweetness and romance — and he wanted to do something particularly sweet and romantic for Brienne.

She filled his thoughts. They’d started things slow, so slow that he’d been burning for her long before they first made love three months after their relationship began. But it was worth the wait, even more so than he could have imagined. She was wild. The handcuffs. That sex swing. She was incredible. Maybe he wasn’t exciting enough for her. The way she’d approach him tentatively with all those kinky things — maybe she didn’t think he was as open-minded as she was? And then there were the things that seemed to be off-limits — she gave him so much pleasure, but she wouldn’t let him drive her crazy in precisely the same way. Maybe she didn’t trust him. Or maybe it was his injury. He cursed his knee again. They hadn’t used the body paints he’d gotten her for Mother’s Eve. The edible body paints. The oh-so-sugary body paints. And Maiden’s Eve was all about something sweet. He grinned. He was undecided about dinner but knew exactly what he wanted for dessert.

He texted her,  _What are you doing?_

She responded, _Just running some errands._

He sent her a smiley face, _You’re coming over for dinner tonight, right?_

She texted back, _Okay. Do you want me to bring something? Dessert?_

She’d given him the perfect opening. Jaime grinned and texted, _You never said if you got something for Mother's Eve?_

It took a few moments for her to respond, _Yes. They were very nice._

She sent a second text almost immediately, _You want me to bring them over?_

He answered, _YES!_

He wondered if he seemed too desperate and decided he was just enthusiastic. That was it. Enthusiastic. He texted back, casually, _It'll be fun._

She responded, _Adventurous._

He sent her a final text, _I can't wait._

***

Tyrion sat in his office, trying and failing to finalize end of semester grades. He could only think about his TA. Things had ended a bit awkwardly last night. The King’s handbook said “staff members should not engage in a romantic relationship with a person whose work s/he directs or controls without first using form T-39-J in order to inform the appropriate supervisor and address any issues of conflict of interest.” Translation: they really shouldn’t be sprawled on his couch like that. And maybe Tysha wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. He’d not heard from her all day, and was starting to think he should call her when his phone rang.

He sighed as he answered, "Hello Jaime."

“What should I get Brienne for Stranger’s Eve?”

Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose. Jaime certainly had a one-track mind these days. “Why aren’t you asking what I want for Stranger’s Eve? I still need a new coffee table.”

“I already got you something. I need to get Brienne something. Something special. I’m in Flea Bottom at Mott’s Armory.”

Tyrion ignored his brother’s choice of shopping locales. “What did you get me? I know it wasn’t running interference with Father on Warrior’s Eve.”

“No,” Jaime responded, “and I thought you said that TA wasn’t your girlfriend. Did things change?”

That was a very good question and Tyrion wished he had an answer. He evaded, “Speaking of Father, what are we getting him for Stranger’s Eve?”

“What do you think about fencing lessons?”

Tyrion furrowed his brow. “For Father?”

“No, for Brienne. Father’s gift is your responsibility. She really likes sword fighting shows. Mott’s gives lessons.”

“And the last time you tried to swing a sword, didn’t you end up in a cast?”

Jaime was quiet on the other end. “This would be different though. Real classes we could take together without murderous coffee tables in the way.”

“Do you think your knee is up for that?” Tyrion asked.

He heard Jaime sigh. “No. What should I get her then? What are you getting your girl?”

“Don’t let anyone at King’s hear you call her my ‘girl.’” Tyrion said.

“Why? Is there some new PC term for it? ‘Life partner’?” Jaime asked.

“No, because until we fill out the appropriate paperwork it would be a violation of university policy,” Tyrion said. He didn’t know if she’d be willing to fill out paperwork. Or if she was speaking to him. Or if she’d want to see him again. Or if she was his girl.

“Paperwork?” Jaime asked. “Is it as un-romantic as it sounds?”

“Even less so,” Tyrion said. “We have to fill it out in triplicate and file it with the dean, with human resources, and with the Office of Research, for some reason I’ve yet to determine.”

“Maybe they’re doing a study on academic relationships,” Jaime said.

Tyrion rested his head on his hand. “Thanks. If I wanted something even more romance-killing than the prospect of filing form T-39-J with the dean, it’s the idea of having some sociologist feature my relationship in a longitudinal study of outcomes of professor/teaching assistant relationships.”

“What’s a longitudinal study?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion’s phone beeped a text message notification. It was from Tysha. “Look it up on Wikipedia. I have to go,” he told Jaime.

He heard Jaime say, “But Brienne —” as he hung up the phone and checked the message.

 _I have some extra Maiden’s Eve cupcakes…and some news,_ it read.

Was she trying to soften the blow? He tensed up. _News?_

_The final papers I graded are in your box. As of this moment, I am officially no longer your TA. I’ll be Perestan’s next semester._

He wasn’t sure how to read that. He responded quickly, _Shall I buy you a celebratory dinner?_

 _Only if we can share the celebratory champagne,_ Tysha responded.

That sounded promising. He fired back, _We could go out, or order in. Whichever you like._

It took a moment for her to answer, _How about we order in? Every place will be crowded tonight._

Hmmm. That sounded reassuring. _Sounds good. What should I order?_ he asked.

 _Your choice this time, but no breakfast food for dinner,_ the response came quickly.

He decided to push his luck, _Fine. I’ll save the waffles for breakfast tomorrow._

He stared at his phone, wondering if he’d gone too far. It finally vibrated.

 _I prefer omelets_ , followed by a smiley face.

Oh yes, this was going to be the sweetest Maiden’s Eve he’d had in years. He was sad to lose her as a TA, but on the other hand it gave them at least a semester to figure things out before they had to worry about paperwork.

***

Davos sat next to Stannis on the couch. He blinked through his own mascara as he looked over at his now smokey-eyed partner and wondered if he looked equally ridiculous. The makeup palette had been a hit and Shireen, working off YouTube tutorials, had demanded that she get to practice on them both. He’d been more than surprised that Stannis had given in so easily.

Shireen had gone to bed a while ago; the two of them had been sitting quietly ever since, a plate of cookies between them and lipstick-stained cups of milk on the table.

“Are you sure you don’t want another?” Davos said. He’d never seen Stannis go so long without devouring cookies, especially as his partner seemed particularly tense.

Stannis looked over his reading glasses, glancing up from the _Cataloguing Annual Report_. “Actually, I don’t,” he said. The smudgy navy blue eyeshadow really did bring out his eyes.

Davos raised his own darkened-eyebrows briefly, then took another cookie. As Stannis read, Davos thought about the note he’d found from Selyse to Shireen.

When Stannis glanced up again, Davos started to speak. To his surprise, he heard his partner speak the same words at the same time.

“I think we need to talk about getting custody of Shireen.”

***

Roose took the hand-delivered envelope into his taxidermy room. Walda never interrupted him here, especially in the evenings. He slit it open and pulled out the report on Jaime Lannister. It was a quick read; there was little to see. Most of the information had been redacted. He flipped the documents over, but the redactor had been thorough, using a black marker that would seep through the paper. The little bit of information he could decipher informed him that Jaime Tytos Lannister, never married, no children, was the son of Tywin Lannister and he worked for Casterly Rock Enterprises. Roose had done work for Tywin Lannister before, not that Tywin was aware of his identity at the time. Was Tywin aware now? Is that why his son had moved into the Kingsgate Arms?

***

Brienne woke with a start. She had never felt more relaxed, boneless even, in her life. She lay on her stomach, Jaime’s arm heavy across her back, his legs entwined with hers, his breath on her shoulder.

She remembered what they had done that led her to sleep so soundly. _The body paints._ She turned her head to the side and looked at him asleep on the pillow beside her, smears of blue body paint in his beard. _In his beard._

No man had ever done that to her before. She didn’t think men actually did that willingly. It was certainly not something she thought a man would enjoy. Jaime had insisted, teasing out her objections as she protested that he didn’t have to, she knew it wasn’t… “It’s my knee that’s injured, not my tongue,” he said, and leered at her. But she was still so embarrassed at the thought that she shied away. It had actually turned into a sort of wrestling contest which she thought she had won until he pulled his arms in and slid down the bed between her legs and then he… made it very, very clear that he found her quite the opposite of distasteful. _Tasty?_ She wasn’t sure she was ready to think of herself in that way, yet, but it was a start. Once he did that, the sensation was almost enough to overcome the thoughts in her head. She’d been afraid at first that she was going to crush him, but he’d managed to hold her in place, not just until she was finished, but until he was finished with her.

Her eyes roamed over his face, so relaxed in his sleep. She ran one finger along his brow, wiping away a bit of blueberry butter. His fingers tightened on her back and his lips curled into a smile, although his eyes remained closed.

“Are you looking at me, Wench?” he asked.

“My name is Brienne,” she whispered.

“ _You_ are supposed to be asleep. Didn’t I wear you out properly earlier?”

Heat flooded her face. She choked out a “Yes.”

He smiled turned smug. He curved his arm across her back and flattened his palm against her ribs, pulling her closer. “Good,” he said, eyes still closed.

She bit her lip. “Jaime, we didn’t — I mean, should I — for you?”

He did open his eyes then, the moonlight making him look even more handsome than usual. “Oh Wench, you already _did_ for me.”

He did look relaxed — sated — even not irritated or angry. She rolled to her side and placed her hand on his bicep. “Jaime…”

He brushed her hair off her forehead. “You know, you’re very bad at letting someone pleasure you for a change. We’ll have to practice some more tomorrow.” He leaned in to kiss her and drew back with a smile. “Go back to sleep, Brienne. We can shower in the morning.”

She nodded again and he closed his eyes. She replayed the evening in her head. He’d focused on her all night, long before they’d taken off their clothes. They’d had her favorite pizza for dinner. He’d rented _Sword of the Morning,_ her favorite movie, and they’d sat on the couch in the dark between the festive throw pillows cuddling and watching it. He hadn’t mocked her when she got teary as Lady Dawn sang to Ser Arthur before he rode into battle; in fact, she thought she’d heard Jaime discreetly sniffling as Arthur rode off. He’d pulled her head to his chest during the battle of the Tower of Joy, when Ser Arthur was killed. Once the movie was over, they’d talked and replayed their favorite scenes until she leaned in and kissed him. He didn’t mind that she’d kissed him, and she still wasn’t quite used to that. He never minded anything she did. He just enjoyed her company. She waited until his breathing had evened out, then ran her finger along his jaw, closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. She whispered three words.

***

Sam pulled down the earflaps of his hat and tied them tightly under his chin thinking again that the cold had gotten worse. The only thing keeping him warm in the frigid North were the notes from a girl so far south. He flipped through the letters until he found the latest one. To his surprise, the oversize postcard was addressed to the Craster trailer park, but the name above the address was simply “Crow.”

_Dear Crow,_

_It’s Smith’s Eve and while I got a nice gift, I also got some bad news. I’m not sure if you’re allowed to do this, Crow, but if you could, I’d like you to destroy this message after you read it. I just have to talk to someone but I don’t want to worry my sisters._

_I’m having some money problems, Crow. I’m afraid I might have to drop out of school, or take a semester off, or just not eat for a month. It’s not my fault_ — _well, I ‘spose everyone says that, but it’s true. It’s my dad. He took out a credit card in my name. I know you can’t mess with the mail, Crow, but if you see more credit card offers for me, could you maybe lose them? Or forward them on to me? If he does this again, I don’t know what I’ll do._

_I wish you were here, Crow. I know you’d be someone I could really talk to._

_Gilly_

Sam read the note again. Old Craster was a bastard. If Sam were a braver man, he’d tell him so. How could he do that to his own daughter?

Sam repeated the Crow’s Oath. “ _Mail gathers, and now my route begins. It shall not end until my carrier bag is empty. I shall not ask for crowns or glory. I am the bringer of the mail. I am the shield that guards the post. I shall never interfere. I pledge my honor to the Postal Service, for this route and all the routes to come.”_

He read Gilly’s note one last time then then grabbed a handful of snow. He smeared the postcard, making the note illegible and ruining the pretty picture on the back.

Then he thought about his vow. He was the shield that guarded the post — but part of guarding the post was making sure it got to who it was supposed to go to, wasn’t it? If old Craster had found some way to subvert Gilly’s change-of-address notification, well, wasn’t it Sam’s job to guard the post from the old man’s misdeeds?

Then he went through the mail, finding two credit card offers in Gilly’s name. He didn’t even think about his vow as he ripped them into thirty-nine pieces.

Gilly needed to stay in King’s Landing, far away from her father. She deserved better, so much better. Sam was sure she’d find someone in King’s Landing. Someone to talk to, share her fears with, hold, kiss. Any man would be lucky to have her. She’d find someone and then she’d forget about him. She’d stop writing notes on her letters. She’d move on. He’d be alone again. He looked at the scrap of limp, wet postcard in his hand, the one that held her address. _Gilly Craster, Kingsgate Arms, King’s Landing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always our love to CommaSplice. She's so inspirational.
> 
> We expect to have Stranger's Eve up in a couple of weeks and then there will be a brief Epilogue. Thank you all for sticking with us.


	8. Stranger's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranger's Eve has finally arrived and the residents of the Kingsgate Arms, along with the Lannister family, are gathering at Jaime's to celebrate. Walda gets the best gift ever. Stannis and Davos make plans. Sansa smells like oranges. The Lannisters get a floral arrangement. Tywin and Olenna settle their differences. Jaime takes a mysterious phone call. Gilly gets a big surprise. Brienne and Jaime finally exchange gifts. But where in the world is Samwell Tarly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, but it's just a wee bit (or quite a bit) longer than the rest.
> 
> Thanks for your patience.

Sansa snuggled up to Margaery in Brienne’s bed. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going on our trip?” she asked.

Margaery forced a smile, even as she felt her heart sink. “In my family we don’t tell what the Stranger’s Eve surprises are until the evening,” she said, brushing Sansa’s hair back.

Sansa sat up, throwing the covers off. Margaery yelped at the cold. “Well, I can’t wait until tonight to give you your present,” Sansa said as she got up.

“Just so long as I can keep the covers pulled up while you get it,” Margaery said, grabbing for the duvet.

A moment later, Sansa sat down on the bed with a giant box. “Here,” she said, thrusting it at Margaery.

“Where did you hide this?” Margaery asked.

“Do you think I’d tell you? I might need the hiding place next Winter’s Seven,” she said.

Margaery opened the box, releasing the scent of summer. At the top was a hat — an elegant green straw beach hat.

“It’s made out of recycled paper,” Sansa said.

“I never would have guessed,” Margaery said in surprise. It was actually quite fetching. It even had a gold cord to keep it on in a stiff breeze.

Sansa put it on Margaery’s head and clasped her hands together, smiling expectantly. “It brings out your eyes. Keep going.”

It took a moment for Margaery to realize what the next item was. “Is this a…crocheted bathing suit?” she asked.

“It’s safe to wear in the water,” Sansa said.

Margaery held it up. The pattern was delicate and complicated — and the daring cut was alluring. “This is amazing! You made this? When did you have time?”

“In between knitting tiny sweaters for penguins,” Sansa said. “I got the idea from the book of _Naughty Knitting Patterns_ you gave me for Father’s Eve.”

Underneath was a gold and green sheer beach cover-up, and beneath that was a pair of gold and green flip flops. She was feeling more terrible about her misfire of a vacation booking by the second. At the bottom was a cotton beach bag. She looked inside it. “Pockets!” she exclaimed.

“I measured them to fit the things you always bring. There’s one for a paperback book, one for sunscreen, and one for your money, keys and ID,” Sansa said.

It was thoughtful, perfectly made and so very Sansa. “Oh, Sansa,” Margaery said. “This is all just so…” She thought of their upcoming visit to the historical theme park and blinked back tears of despair.

“I made myself a matching bag,” Sansa said. “We’re going to have so much fun!” She wrapped her arms around Margaery. “And I can’t wait to see you in that swimsuit.”

Margaery hugged Sansa and racked her brain. How was she going to break it to Sansa that they weren’t going on the beach vacation of her dreams?

***

Jaime loved the feel of Brienne’s lips on his, soft yet strong, plush and smooth, not sticky with lipstick or tainted with some artificial-fruit flavor. She tasted, just barely, like the syrup they’d had with their morning pancakes. Sometimes he thought he could spend the entire day just kissing Brienne, but then she'd make all those soft moans and sweet sighs that made him want more than just a kiss. He tucked his hand between her back and the carpet to lift to her closer to him. The resulting weight shift caused him to put just a bit too much pressure on his knee. He grimaced and she pulled back.

“Jaime, we can’t do this,” Brienne said, with a slight pant.

He braced himself on one forearm. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I can.” He pressed into her to prove it. “We can selectively undress to protect ourselves against rug burn.”

She flushed, mottling the skin of her neck. He bent down, pushing aside the collar of her button-down shirt to feel that heat on his lips. She draped the fingers of one hand across the nape of his neck, playing with his hair and waved the other hand vaguely around the bizarrely festive living room. “I mean, we can’t right here, right now.”

He grinned. After their shower this morning — thank the gods for the shower seat and grab-bars he’d needed to buy when he’d first injured his leg — they’d made breakfast. Brienne was making leaving noises when he’d decided they should christen each area of his living room, telling her that either Sansa or Walda would be offended if they only messed up one. That’s how he ended up on top of her as she lay at the exact intersection of the masking tape dividing his living room, one limb in each quadrant. “Our living room; we can do whatever we want, whenever we want. And if you keep doing that to the back of my neck we are definitely doing this right here, right now.”

She stilled her hand and blushed furiously, her eyes darting around the room. She was such an enticing mix of boldness and innocence; a sex swing one night, shy about him using his mouth the next. “It’s Stranger’s Eve. I have to go pick up a present.”

He smacked a kiss on her lips, not letting himself linger. “Is it for me?” he asked, running his hands up her sides.

She squirmed and arched against him, throwing her head back and practically offering up her neck. “Stop, Jaime. Stop. That tickles.”

He settled himself atop her again and kissed the underside of her chin. “It is for me, isn’t it?” She’d gotten him so many amazing presents already; he didn’t know how she could possibly top them. And her little act about not understanding the TENS unit this morning over breakfast was cute.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, bit her lip and nodded. She couldn’t even lie to him. He fell into the pure blue of her eyes. She was so adorable, so beautiful, so perfect; he had to tell her. “Brienne, I —”

At just that moment, the doorbell rang.

“— am going to have that disconnected,” he groaned.

“Come on, Jaime, get off me,” she said, pushing at his shoulder and trying to pull herself up off the floor.

He gave her another quick kiss before rising to his feet and holding out his hand to help her up. He tugged her just a bit too hard so she fell into him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her again. The doorbell chimed again, more insistent this time.

“Jaime —” she began.

“Fine, fine. Coming,” he yelled, limping toward the door.

It was a delivery, one he’d been expecting later in the day. Jaime moved to block the doorway from Brienne’s view. “Is it wrapped?” he asked, in _sotto voce_. He turned to glance over his shoulder at Brienne. She was straightening her clothes and running her fingers through her hair. He grinned. No matter her efforts, nothing was going to hide the blotches on her neck and that fantastic hickey on her clavicle.

“Yeah, it’s wrapped,” the delivery man announced.

Jaime turned to him with a glare. “Keep your voice down.”

Then suddenly Brienne was at his side, coat on. “Jaime, I have to go,” she said

He grabbed her around the waist before she could slip out the door and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “See you tonight?”

She nodded and was out the door and headed down the stairs. Jaime reflexively started to shut the door behind her only to have the courier shove his clipboard forward. “Need your signature,” he mumbled.

Jaime had just shut the door and put Brienne’s gift on the table when the doorbell chimed again. He opened it; no one was at the door but a gift sat on his welcome mat. Brienne must have had his Secret Stranger gift all along and waited until he shut the door to come back up the stairs and deliver it. His family held to the tradition of exchanging gifts at the stroke of midnight on Stranger’s Eve but clearly Brienne’s family did not.

He grinned as he tore open the gift. He pulled the contraption from its wrapping and examined it. A one-handed corkscrew. On their very first date, when she’d brought him his lantern during the blackout, he’d needed her to open the wine. She’d opened many bottles since then, up until his cast had come off, and even then he was still clumsy; his hand hadn’t yet regained the power or dexterity it once had. He hadn’t known they even made one-handed corkscrews. It was fantastic, just like Brienne.

He grabbed his binoculars and sat down in his chair. He had hours to go before the Stranger’s Eve party. Why not check in on his neighbors?

He saw Brienne leaving, so cute all bundled up in her favorite scarf with her blonde hair poking from underneath her cap. She looked up at his window as she hurried across the courtyard. He wanted to wave or blow her a kiss, but the sun’s glare meant she couldn’t see inside.

He turned his attention to her unit. He couldn’t see a sign of Gilly and wondered if she were doing last-minute shopping for her Secret Stranger giftee. Whatever she gave, it wouldn’t top his Stranger’s Eve gift for her. Brienne had objected at the expense, but he’d gotten it settled over the phone while he was stuck in traffic yesterday. Sansa and Margery were having a chat. He saw Sansa open the door to find presents on their doorstep. Brienne’s family wasn’t the only one who opened their Stranger’s Eve gifts early.

Thinking of early presents, he checked in on Walda. Her present hadn’t arrived yet, but she was frantically cleaning. He propped up his feet and resolved to look in on her when her gift arrived, not that he had any doubt as to how she’d react. He really was the best Secret Stranger.

He let his binoculars drift down to check in on The Three Bears. It was the longest number of days in a row that Baby Bear had ever spent at their place; he wondered if she would be a permanent fixture. They were opening their gifts as well. A metal contraption for Bearded Bear and an enormous tin of something for Uptight Bear. Did everyone except for his family exchange Stranger’s Eve gifts early these days?

He looked back again at his package for Brienne. Maybe he should have given it to her before she left, but he’d been focused on trying to give something else to her. He thought about the other gift he’d gotten her and then glanced around his apartment. The living room looked relatively clean, though his bedroom was in a sordid state. He considered cleaning it up before the Secret Stranger party, but decided he’d just shut the door instead. He and Brienne would make another mess of it tonight anyway, and he’d have to clean it tomorrow before his nosy father’s arrival. And after his hard work seducing Brienne this morning, he deserved a nap. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

***

Sansa grinned as she shut the front door to Brienne’s apartment. “Looks like our Secret Strangers have been by,” she said, placing the gifts on the dining room table. “But I’m sure that my Secret Stranger won’t get me anything as nice as our trip.” She bounced on the balls of her feet.

“You might be underestimating your Secret Stranger,” Margaery said modestly, looking down at her own gift.

“Well, I’m not waiting until midnight to open this one,” she said. Sansa tore open the wrapping on her present. It was a pink drawstring bag, embroidered with the ‘Crownlands Cuties’ logo. The bag had long narrow pockets along the outside perfect for knitting needles and a long handle that would allow her to carry it over her shoulder. Her gifts had been practical up to this point, pure Doctor Bolton, but this was personal and practical — and also pink. Had Walda had a hand in her gift, maybe chosen the pink color for Doctor Bolton? For a moment she felt a reflexive dislike of the bag, then shook her head. Hot pink was the Cuties’ away-team color, and she couldn’t begrudge Doctor Bolton asking for a little help in choosing her gift. She’d had enough tinselitis with Walda yesterday, she thought, looking at the tinsel-burn on her hand with a grimace. Winter’s Seven was not a time for fighting. It was a time for being cheerful and loving and gracious while feeling secretly vindicated when everyone at the party preferred her warmly decorated sections of the living room to Walda’s beige-ery.

She showed her bag to Margaery, who made appreciative noises. Then she picked up the other package and handed it to her girlfriend. “You can’t keep me in suspense all night over all the gifts. Come on, open yours.” She bit her lip. “I’m sure it’s wonderful,” she said, more out of hope than evidence. Though Margaery had been appreciative of her fast-fashion socks on Crone’s Eve, she’d been progressively more disappointed in the rest, a series of cheap and poorly-made knock-offs of last season’s designer gear. They’d guessed that horrible Robert Baratheon was probably Margaery’s Secret Stranger; she wondered if he’d given her the gifts that weren’t good enough for the women he usually brought home.

Margaery shook her head. “You think everything is wonderful.”

Sansa looked more closely at the box. “No, I think this one is different.” It was a large square box, professionally wrapped with “This Side Up” on an engraved card on the top, below the ribbon.

Margaery sighed as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. The sides of the box fell away to reveal a miniature rose bush pruned in the bonsai style adorned with four golden buds about to bloom. “Wow. This is — wow.”

Sansa nodded. She knew Margaery missed the gardens of the Reach and Tyrells were known for their love of flowers. Sansa skimmed the card that explained the care for the indoor rose bush, checking to see if it was safe for Ser Whiskers. “It seems your Secret Stranger saved up to get you something amazing after all. Aren’t you glad you didn’t leave it in the box until midnight?”

Margaery leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she examined one bloom close up. “I guess I’ll have to thank Robert at tonight’s Stranger’s Eve party,” she said.

“The Stranger’s Eve party!” Sansa yelped. It was just a few hours away and she still had one big project left before it began. “I have to run. I’ll see you in a few hours. You’ll go to your brother’s to check on Ser Whiskers, right?” She gave her girlfriend a quick kiss and grabbed her coat and the bag that held her supplies for one last surprise.

***

Yesterday Walda’s Secret Stranger had left her a note; it said she needed to be home at two p.m. to receive her Stranger’s Eve gift. She was so excited that, just like when she was a little girl on Stranger’s Eve, she couldn’t stay in bed. At seven in the morning, she was up and cleaning the house from top to bottom, and after she fed Roose his breakfast she was at it again, scrubbing. She wanted her house to be perfect for whatever was arriving. She didn’t know what it was going to be, but she knew it must be big if she had to be home for it. Maybe it was a new stove! Well, that would be far above the ten-dragon limit, but she could dream. Her gifts so far had exceeded the limit, and it was the only thing she could think of that would top what had come before.

Now it was just before two and Roose seemed tense. Was he jealous again? She tried to reassure him. “Oh, Roosie,” she said. “Thank you for letting me remodel the bathrooms. Did I tell you it’s the best Stranger’s Eve gift I could imagine?”

He smiled thinly at her. “Many times. I vowed to keep you happy and safe, Walda.”

Safe. Maybe that was what was bothering him, that she hadn’t added any safety features for the renovated bathroom. She made a mental note to suggest the textured non-slip tub.

He glanced out the window. His face wore its usual cool neutrality, but Walda had learned to read her husband, and she’d seen his eyebrow twitch for a fraction of a second. “Someone’s here,” he said. His voice was even cooler than usual, that tone he got that sent delicious shivers down her spine. “I’ll get the door. If I say ‘down,’ duck below the kitchen counter.”

Did Roose think her Secret Stranger was sending some sort of pie-thrower? She heard the thud of several sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. Well, it would take four workmen to bring a new stove, wouldn’t it? But she swore she could hear the click-clack of high heels mingled with the trudging.

There was a knock at the door. Walda stepped forward, but Roose motioned for her to stay in the kitchen. She noticed that he picked up the statue he kept on the side table by the door as his other hand turned the doorknob. He opened the door a crack, then opened it wide, putting the statue back in its place as he did so.

The woman who stood on the other side of the door was the source of the high-heeled steps. She was very tall and wore a stylish suit that cinched tightly around the waist; her sense of style almost made up for her very plain face. “You must be Mr. Bolton,” she said, craning her neck around. “Is your wife here? If not, we’re going to haul ass —”

“Sharna,” Walda heard someone say behind her. The voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m here!” Walda said, hustling around the counter. “Right here.” She held her hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as Sharna stepped in.

Sharna looked at Walda’s hand and rolled her eyes. She stepped aside. “Belwas,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Check the place out and catch her if she faints.” A large man in a suit with an earpiece came in, looking around the house as if to find whatever might bite them. Behind him stood…

“Hot Pie!” Walda whispered in awe.

She heard Sharna mutter, “And the squealing starts in three, two…”

The young, round man ducked his head bashfully as he came inside. “Hello, Walda. I heard you had a few things to bake today.”

Walda froze for a second, her brain unable to reconcile what her eyes were seeing. The next words came out of her mouth on autopilot. “Can I get everyone tea? Hot cocoa? I’ve got some cookies fresh out of the oven.”

“Good recovery,” Sharna said. “She’s got potential.”

Walda turned to Hot Pie, once again tongue-tied. His shy smile, the same one she’d seen on TV all this time, put her at ease. He held out a small wrapped package. “This was on the door step. It’s addressed to ‘Roose’?”

Roose stepped forward and took the present. Walda looked at him expectantly. Roose opened the gift and pulled from the box a four-inch red rectangular object, slightly worn. He fiddled with it, clearly distracted. “A Northern Army knife,” he murmured. He extended the nail file arm. “This can be quite a handy weapon when used in close quarters…” He trailed off and turned back to his wife. “I’ll get the beverages, Walda,” said Roose mildly. “If the rest of you would join me in the sitting room?”

Sharna cleared her throat.

Belwas touched his earpiece.

“Now Walda,” Hot Pie said, “let me show you a few tricks to make baking for a large group easier.”

***

Brienne unwound the red, white and blue scarf from around her neck. She’d had the scarf for years, and she loved it even though it was big and bulky and not at all feminine or pretty. _When are you going to give up that scarf and wear something pretty? No, it’s not warm, but at least it sets off your eyes. How are you going to get a date if men can’t even tell you’re a woman under that shapeless parka and ugly scarf? At least wear something that makes it seem like your body might have a curve or two_ , the voice in her head said, echoing from her past. “Shut up,” she muttered to the voice as she hung the scarf on a peg by the door. The scarf may not be feminine, but at least it hid the fresh hickeys Jaime had given her last night and this morning.

 _Jaime_. He didn’t seem to care about her bulky scarf or wool cap or shapeless coat. As unbelievable as it seemed, he just cared about her. Reading the paper and making breakfast with him this morning had felt…right. Even rolling around on his living room floor had been fun. And the shower… Her hand drifted up to the latest red mark on her neck. She almost regretted letting him know she liked it when he kissed her neck, though she would have felt terrible about lying when they played the sex game. And thinking of the sex game, she looked down at the cheerfully wrapped package sitting on her kitchen table, the same paper as the other gifts her Secret Stranger had gotten her. Jaime had gotten her. She was sure it was him. It had to be him. But then there was the makeup palette… She pushed the thought aside and opened this new gift, wondering what sexy thing fit in a package so flat.

It wasn’t a sex toy at all. It was a picture frame — a nice one, maybe a little too delicate for her tastes. The stock photo inside it was of a blonde woman in a blue dress, looking half over her shoulder. The photo seemed a little familiar. It actually looked a bit like one of the hallways in the complex. Brienne studied the photo closer. She drew back in surprise. It wasn’t a stock photo at all. It was a picture of _her_ dressed for dinner with the Lannisters on Warrior’s Eve. She looked…not terrible. This might be the only photo of her in a dress where she didn’t look awful and miserable. She smiled. How had Jaime managed to take this without her noticing? She looked at the bag holding his Stranger’s Eve gift and felt better about her choice.

Brienne headed to her bedroom and looked through her closet for something to wear to the party. She wished Margaery or Sansa or even Gilly were around to ask their advice, but the apartment was strangely vacant. She sighed.

All of her turtleneck sweaters were dirty. She really needed to do laundry, but with Winter’s Seven and Margaery and Sansa staying with her and all the time she’d been spending with Jaime, she’d let the laundry go. She thought about wearing the blue dress again and rejected the idea. Jaime had clearly liked it, but there was a big difference between wearing a dress while sitting with your legs hidden under the table at dinner and wearing a dress while walking around at a party all evening.

She pulled out a pair of black pants. Too thin and summery, but at least they were clean. She went back to looking for a shirt.

Her phone buzzed a text message alert. Maybe it was from Jaime.

`A1: B. She got your number off someone’s phone. Expect her to call.`

Brienne sighed and responded, _Thanks for the heads up. Happy Winter’s Seven_.

Her phone buzzed again.

`A1: You owe me for the info. I will collect.`

Brienne decided not to respond. Of course _she_ would collect. That’s how family worked.

She went back to mulling over her clothing choices. She pulled a blue sleeveless turtleneck blouse from the very back. Catelyn had made her buy it years ago. It was too summery as well, and she’d always thought it too clingy and worried about how it showed off her muscular shoulders, but it would at least hide her hickeys. It was a good thing Jaime kept his home warm; she was going to freeze tonight on the walk over. She looked over at the socks she’d gotten for Crone’s Eve, her warm, wool, knee-high, blue-striped socks. She’d yet to wear them.

Her phone rang this time. Brienne looked warily at the caller ID. She knew that number. Her stomach clenched.

She answered, “Hi, Dad.”

She pulled her gift for Jaime out of the bag as she listened to her father’s usual patter. She glanced out her window at Jaime’s apartment. She took a deep breath and interrupted Selwyn Tarth, “Well, if you’re going to be in King’s Landing next week, I’ve been seeing someone. I think he’ll want to meet you. We should go to dinner. How about Saturday?”

Jaime had to meet her family sometime, didn’t he? He’d been hinting at it ever since Warrior’s Eve dinner. This would just be Dad and dinner. Best to start slowly.

***

Stannis and Davos stood in the kitchen over the latest and largest tin of cookies from Walda. They spoke using the quietest voices they could to discuss the matter at hand. Davos had been worried he might need to use his Stranger’s Eve gift, a folding box trolley, to roll Stannis around the apartment after he devoured his latest present, but his partner had so far refrained from eating even a single cookie.

“Shireen’s room at Selyse’s house is far larger than her room here,” Stannis said. “I am sure she has friends in the neighborhood.”

“Considering Selyse’s behavior over the past few years, she may not have friends in the neighborhood anymore,” Davos said. “If she’s been proselytizing, it’s likely the neighbors wouldn’t allow their children to go to Shireen’s house. Parents get nervous about letting their children interact with people that they think are strange.”

“And how will that be any better here?” Stannis countered.

Davos smiled and patted Stannis’s hand. “Twenty years ago we would have been the strange family. In the Vale I might still be worried. But now — you go to work every day in a necktie with a briefcase, and I stay home and take care of the house. We may be the only ideal traditional family left in King’s Landing.”

“We’re both divorced,” Stannis said. His hand hovered over the cookies on the counter. “And Shireen may not want to live in the city. She’d have to change schools. We’d have to find a school for her. One that would welcome her and challenge her. She’s a gifted child. It’s not good for children to be uprooted.”

“Maybe you should ask Shireen what she thinks,” Davos said.

“What I think about what?” Shireen said from the doorway.

Davos jumped. _How does she do that?_ he thought.

Stannis looked at Davos, who raised his eyebrows back at Stannis. Stannis picked up a cookie and put it back down before answering. “We were discussing whether you would want to live with us. All the time. Here.”

Shireen frowned and was quiet. Davos felt his stomach sink. Stannis’s expression didn’t change, but he could see his partner’s fingertips go white on the counter.

“Could I hang posters on my walls?” Shireen asked.

“Of course you could,” Davos said before Stannis could say a word.

Shireen nodded. “Okay.”

“Your room will be much smaller,” Stannis said.

Shireen shrugged. “I like looking out the window. The courtyard is pretty.”

“And you’ll have to change schools,” Stannis said.

“Can I go school shopping with Margaery and Sansa?” she asked. “I don’t want to wear my old clothes to my new school. Mother makes me wear little kid clothes.”

“We’ll have to ask them,” Stannis said.

“Okay,” Shireen said. “Can I have some cocoa?”

“I’ll make it,” Davos said. He put the pot on the stove and dragged Stannis beside him for a moment. “She wants to hang posters on her walls and she wants grownup clothes,” he whispered. “I hate to break this to you, but I think we’re going to be raising a teenager.”

***

Jaime checked his phone. Several messages from Tyrion. None from Brienne. His brother could wait. He’d had an excellent nap and a shower, which now seemed a bit lonely without Brienne. He propped up his aching leg and was just kicking back to get in an hour of _Call of Duty 39: Winter Has Come_ before the party started when the doorbell rang.

To his surprise, it was a man wearing a Manderly Catering uniform, carrying one of those big thermal food-delivery bags. “You’re a day early,” Jaime said. “The family dinner’s tomorrow.”

The caterer flourished his papers, which gave out an authoritative crackle. “Nope. It’s tonight. Says here ‘Sunday, Stranger’s Eve,’” he said.

The elevator door dinged. Gilly appeared. “Gilly, you’re an hour early,” Jaime said.

“You told me to come an hour early to help set up for your Stranger’s Eve dinner,” Gilly said.

“The dinner’s tomorrow,” Jaime said.

“No, it’s tonight,” Gilly said.

“Says right here,” said the caterer, snapping the papers in Jaime’s direction again.

The elevator door dinged again and Tyrion stepped out, pulling a box of wine on a wheeled cart and carrying two rectangular wrapped packages, the narrower of which was almost as tall as he was. “Tyrion, will you explain to these people that our family dinner is tomorrow night?”

“And happy Stranger’s Eve to you too,” Tyrion said, handing Jaime the larger present and giving Gilly a smile and a wink. “Why would I be lugging all this wine if the dinner wasn’t tonight?”

“Because you’ve drunk my wine rack dry,” Jaime said.

“I’ve earned every drop of that wine,” Tyrion said. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to serve us that Lyseni swill you seem so fond of. I texted you that I was bringing the wine for Stranger’s Eve dinner and here it is.”

“But the dinner is tomorrow night,” Jaime said, trying to project more surety than he was feeling.

“It’s tonight,” Gilly, the caterer and Tyrion said in unison.

Jaime shook his head and looked at all the decorations that Sansa and Walda had used to deck his halls. “So then the condo party is tomorrow night.” He forced himself to phrase it as a statement, not a question.

“That’s tonight too,” Gilly said, as she headed toward the kitchen.

“You knew that both parties were on the same night and you didn’t mention it to me, traitor?” he called after her as she began emptying his dishwasher.

“Thought you had a plan,” Gilly said, directing the caterer toward the counter.

“You’ve been working for me for three months and nine days and you think I’d have a plan? Don’t go into anthropology. Your observational skills are pathetic.”

“Says the man with the MBA in project management. Didn’t you spend two years figuring out how to manage competing and conflicting deadlines?” Tyrion said.

“That requires knowing in advance that you’ve got competing and conflicting deadlines,” said Jaime.

Tyrion glanced at his watch. “You do have advanced notice. You’ve got a whole hour.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes as he looked at the room. “Party planning is really more Cersei’s purview,” he said under his breath. “What would Cersei do?”

“Cersei would throw a tantrum, blame it on Gilly and then drink an entire bottle of wine before anyone showed up. I admit that has its advantages, but tomorrow you’ll have to suffer a hangover and the wrath of Father simultaneously. It would be even less fun than it sounds,” Tyrion responded and then looked down at the second wrapped package. “Perhaps it’s best if we not give this to him tonight.” He looked at the package Jaime held. “I believe Father would insist that you leave that in the corner until midnight.”

Jaime ripped the package open. It was an elegant polished wood cane topped with a golden lion’s head. He rested his weight on it, instantly feeling the ache in his knee ease. “Hear me roar,” he said, glancing at the lion’s head.

“We’re all going to hear Father roar in an hour if you don’t start making phone calls,” Tyrion said.

Jaime looked around the room again, then out the window, his eyes darting from window to window. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and leaned on his cane.

“You’re going to have to disappoint someone,” Tyrion said.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I do,” Jaime said. He picked up his phone and looked at the guest list for the dinner. Sansa Stark and Walda Bolton had left clashing toothpicks on the table; he hoped they were enough. “Are you willing to run a quick Stranger’s Eve errand?”

“That depends on the quality of my Stranger’s Eve gift,” Tyrion said.

Jaime pulled a fancy envelope from his pocket and tossed it at Tyrion who caught it with ease. “This should be good enough.”

Tyrion opened the envelope. “Screaming Dragon Winery.” His eyebrows went up as he read the name. “I didn’t realize you had taste.” As he scanned down the letter his eyes grew big. “Wine futures. Thirty-nine gallons? You do love me.” He put the letter back in the envelope and bowed. “Errand, you said?”

***

As soon as Tywin stepped off the elevator he could hear noise, voices, emanating from Jaime’s apartment and radiating good cheer. As he smelled the tantalizing aroma of something warm and braised mingled with cinnamon and clove, he felt the familiar sense of disappointment in Jaime. It took him a moment to realize why. He rang the bell.

Jaime opened the door, leaning on a cane rather than his ever-present crutch. “Happy Stranger’s Eve, Father,” he said. “Won’t you come in?”

Tywin took one step in and looked around. Jaime’s home was bedecked with clashing festive Winter’s Seven decorations, as if someone had dropped every one of those holiday decorating magazines in a shredder and then tried to tape them together into one vaguely coherent tome. Jaime would never have thought to decorate in such a mish-mash; his son likely wouldn’t have thought to decorate at all.

Much like the decorations, the guest list was a hodge-podge. Tywin wondered which of the many interlopers crowding the room had been responsible for the adornment. The room was full of people he didn’t know. Many people. People who did not have the last name _Lannister_.

“Jaime,” Tywin said, his voice deep and cold. “You had agreed to host a _family_ dinner.”

“And I have,” Jaime said. He gestured across the room. “You’d told me you were bringing Olenna, and she invited her family. That’s her granddaughter Margaery Tyrell over there, and her granddaughter’s girlfriend, Sansa. They’re talking to Brienne. My girlfriend,” he said, with a peculiar emphasis on the final word.

“I did not say you could invite your _girlfriend_ to this event,” Tywin said with as much disdain as possible.

“And I didn’t say that you could invite yours, and yet here we are,” Jaime said. “By the way, where is Olenna? Meeting with the plumbers?”

Tywin cleared his throat and did not deign to answer.

“Well, she also invited her grandson, Loras, and his partner, Renly,” he said, gesturing to the couch, where a young, dark-haired man was perched on the arm, talking to three other men of varying ages. “Since it was a family event, Renly wanted to invite his brother and his family.” Now that Jaime mentioned it, Tywin could see the resemblance between the bearded young man and an older man on the couch with a dour expression. “You’d established a precedent by encouraging Olenna to invite her grandchildren,” Jaime said with a shrug. Tywin’s eyes narrowed at his son’s innocent act.

A plain-looking child in a festive dress brought a cookie to the older dark-haired man on the couch, who smiled as if the expression was one that he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet.

“Some wine, Mr. Lannister?” Tywin heard a voice with a harsh Northern accent say. He turned to see a young lady all in black holding two wine glasses out to them on a silver platter. He took the glass of red. “Mr. Lannister?” she said to Jaime, proffering the platter to him with a wink. Tywin’s son took the other glass.

“And that’s Gilly,” Jaime said as the girl walked away. “She’s a college student that lives with Brienne, and she’s working this party for some pocket money. By that point, everyone at Kingsgate except for one couple was attending, and it would have been rude to leave them out.” Jaime gestured towards an icy-eyed man and a plump blonde woman who was speaking to the plain little girl. “That’s Walda and her husband, Roose. Walda’s trained with that famous baker Hot Pie, and she agreed to bake dessert for the party.” As his son spoke, the red-haired girl who was paired off with Olenna’s granddaughter walked across the room to browse the buffet on the table.

Tywin narrowed his eyes at the array of food on toothpicks. “Everyone is standing. With plates,” Tywin said. Cersei had pushed him to hold parties like this for corporate events, but he had adamantly refused. When he was young, his father, Tytos, had held these parties where everyone stood around and ate, and none of his employees or competitors had any respect for him.

“Oh, that’s the style now,” the red-haired girl said, inserting herself uninvited into their conversation. Tywin noticed that she smelled of oranges. “Gather Magazine had an entire thirty-nine page spread dedicated to the walking dinner party.”

The fat blonde sidled up to their conversation. “Mayra Stewart says the walking dinner party is the _only_ kind of dinner party to have. It allows the guests to circulate.”

“Well, yes, but _hers_ are so fussy,” the redhead said.

“They’re well thought out,” the blonde said firmly.

Tywin and Jaime stepped away from the budding argument. “You wouldn’t want a Lannister party to seem stuck in the past, would you?” Jaime said, smirking.

Tywin was about to castigate his son when the doorbell rang. Tywin saw Jaime flinch at the sound before he put on a smile and opened the door. “Olenna Tyrell! The party’s complete,” Jaime said. “I’d expected you to arrive with Father.”

“I don’t need your father to get around,” Olenna said with a tight smile. “Hello, Tywin. Cut the corners on any construction projects lately?”

“Olenna.” Before Tywin could say another word, the brown-haired Northern serving girl was standing at Olenna’s elbow, holding an enormous glass of red wine. Tywin wondered if the vessel had been a vase in its past life. “Margaery says this is your favorite vintage,” the girl said.

“And my favorite serving size,” Olenna said, wrapping her fingers around the stem of the giant wineglass. She raised the glass to her granddaughter across the room, who gave her a saucy wink. Tywin had seen photos of Olenna as a young girl, and it was clear where her granddaughter had gotten her looks.

Olenna glanced at the buffet table. “Thank the gods. I thought this was going to be one of those stodgy sit-down dinner parties you’re so fond of, Tywin. At least here I can choose who to mingle with.”

Tywin glared at his son, who smiled back. “Why don’t I leave you two alone for a minute?” Jaime said.

They stood by the door as Jaime walked away. “Olenna,” Tywin said again.

“Tywin,” she said with a smile that could cut glass. “Lovely party. Let’s just hope the toilets don’t explode and soak all the guests,” she said.

Tywin’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the crowd. A change of subject seemed in order. “I see neither of us is succeeding in our plans for our future generations.”

Olenna shrugged. “In five years my grandchildren will want to establish families. I’ll convince them to use Loras’s sperm to inseminate Sansa, and Margaery can carry a baby for Renly and Loras using Renly’s sperm. A bit unorthodox, perhaps, but the dynasty will continue.” She looked across the room, to where Tyrion was exiting the kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand and a brunette in the other. “And your sons seem to have found their matches,” she said.

“Tyrion’s paramour is the daughter of a _franchisee_ ,” he said coldly. “The tall awkward woman that Jaime is dating has a problematic family history, I’ve learned. And Cersei has again absented herself entirely.”

The doorbell rang again. Tywin saw Jaime look around the room, his brow furrowed, as he answered the door. On the other side of the door was one of the largest floral displays Tywin had seen outside of a hotel lobby.

“Delivery for the Lannister Family?” the floral arrangement said. As it thrust out a piece of paper for Jaime to sign, Tywin realized there was someone standing behind it.

Jaime signed off and, with a grunt and a limp, dragged the monstrosity by its white vase into the room. The top of the door frame knocked the tallest bloom backwards, not that anyone would notice in that horrific riot of ornamentation, full of enormous tropical flowers and bedecked with crimson and gold ribbons.

Tyrion walked over to it, looking up…and up. “Are we sure there aren’t a couple of parrots hiding in there?” he said.

“Don’t drag it any further. If it hits your hanging light it’s going to go off like a fragmentation grenade,” Olenna’s grandson Loras said.

“I do love orchids, but…in moderation,” the fat blonde said, wrinkling her nose at the flowers.

“And the tropical blooms are just so discordant with the season,” the redhead said. “That’s bigger than our Old Gods tree.”

“Here’s the card,” the delivery woman said, practically throwing it at Jaime as she fled for the elevator.

Tywin took the envelope from Jaime’s hands and opened it. “It’s from Cersei,” he said, scowling as he scanned the words. He handed it to Tyrion as several other partygoers crowded around to get a closer look at the bouquet.

“‘Dear Father, Jaime and Tyrion,’” Tyrion read aloud. “‘I’m sorry I can’t be with you on this very special day, but I know we are all together under the same sky. I’ve embarked on a journey to connect myself with my inner light and move beyond my most difficult experiences.’ Inner light is underlined.” Tyrion continued. “‘I’m slowly learning to embrace gratitude over attitude and to stop, breathe and be.’ That’s followed by a smiley face. ‘I know now that I am at the center of the pain in all my relationships and I’ve discovered just how powerful forgiveness can be. It’s wisdom that few have the opportunity to gain, and I am looking forward to sharing with all of you.’ You is in all caps.” Tyrion flipped the note over and continued reading. “‘It is a hard road learning to do the know’ — that’s in quotation marks — ‘but I’ve embraced the revelation that I embody the power of courage, endurance of strength and beauty of survival. I’ve just finished my first sessions at the Sanctuary at the Quiet Isle, removing myself from the context of my life in order to relieve my burden of self and deal with my accumulated pain. I’ll be reborn through this process and I’m glad I’ll be an agent of change for our family.’ That ‘agent of change’ stuff is in caps and underlined. It’s signed. ‘Love and light, Cersei.’” He looked at the envelope before glancing around the room. “Sanctuary at the Quiet Isle? Has she joined a cult?”

“Sanctuary is a rehab facility,” Loras’s paramour said as he edged away from aggressive bouquet.

“A _recovery_ facility,” the older, dark-haired man said. His face was severe but it was clear that he shared the same heritage as the man he chastised.

The younger man rolled his eyes. “It’s rehab. Robert went in a few weeks ago,” he said, turning to the Lannisters. “Sanctuary is supposed to be the best, and Robert sounds like a changed man in his letters.”

His brother snorted.

“What’s rehab, Davos?” the little girl asked the bearded man with the oddly stunted fingers.

Tywin took the letter back from his son and looked it over. The wording seemed overwrought, but she’d not been gone long. He glanced up at the two inappropriate women his sons had chosen, then back to the note. If Cersei was taking steps to improve her life, then perhaps there was hope after all. Maybe his other children would do the same. She was the eldest, after all…

The young bearded man smiled. “And Loras and I get his apartment for the next six months. It’s much more convenient to my law firm. Maybe I’ll run for condo board chairman while I’m here,” he said.

The older brother’s eyes narrowed.

“Ah, yes, Renly. How is your case load lately?” Olenna asked, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a class-action lawsuit regarding shoddy work by a construction company?”

“Olenna,” Tywin said, taking her by the elbow. “May I talk to you privately for a moment?”

He led her out of the living room, past the bathroom and rounded the corner into Jaime’s expansive, chaotically messy bedroom. As he flipped on the lights he noticed something…unusual hanging from the rafters.

“Does this mean you’re finally willing to negotiate?” Olenna asked.

Tywin put his wineglass down on the dresser, glanced at the contraption again and smiled.

***

Margaery picked up a bite-size chunk of steak and roasted potato on a toothpick as she watched her grandmother and Tywin Lannister walk down the hall.

“The course of true love never did run smooth, eh?” said Davos as he picked up another skewer.

“I’m sure that Grandmother will make the right decision,” Margaery said confidently.

Davos leaned in. “I notice you’re not saying what you think the right decision is,” he said quietly, with a smile.

She smiled wryly and shrugged. “I don’t feel I know Mr. Lannister enough to make a comment.”

“Very well put. Have you ever thought of going into politics?” Davos said.

Margaery laughed. “You’re very perceptive,” she said.

“And you’re very good at changing the topic,” Davos said, his eyes crinkling. “I must say, the spread is excellent.”

“Yes,” Margaery said, holding up her now empty toothpick. “It’s like a tiny bite of a steak dinner on a spear. Sansa said it was an inspired bit of catering.”

“Walda called it very clever,” Davos said. “By the Mother, they agree on something!”

They both laughed. Margaery glanced toward the end of the room, where Sansa and Walda stood in front of the oversized, overdone floral arrangement. The redhead and the blonde were talking too low to be heard, but from their hand gestures and their facial expressions, it was clear that what they were saying was not complimentary. “I think they also both agree on the floral arrangement,” Margaery said.

“It looks like it might leap out and try to take over the whole complex, doesn’t it? I’m going to have nightmares in which we’re all standing in the courtyard trying to fend it off with herbicide.”

Margaery laughed again at that.

Davos picked up another bite-size skewer. “But soon you’re going to be surrounded by the real thing, aren’t you? Sansa told me you’re taking her somewhere warm while they finish repairs on your bathroom.”

Margaery let out a hiss of air between her teeth and forced a smile. “Warm, yes,” she said.

“But?” Davos said, leaning closer.

Margaery looked over her shoulder to make sure that Sansa was still busy eviscerating the floral arrangement and leaned in to murmur, “Have you heard of that place ‘The Realm of the Rhoynar’?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Davos said. “Thirty-nine years ago they’d only started the archaeological digs nearby and the re-enactors based things more on myth than research. The souvenirs from back then are very popular among kitsch collectors on eBay. I know it’s much more serious now, though.”

“Yes,” Margaery said. “It was the only place that I could find us a room in a warm climate. We’re staying in a ‘family cabin,’” she said, putting air quotes around the term. “I don’t suppose you know of anywhere around there that recreates the kitsch era of the place?”

Davos grinned. “I’ll do you one better.” He took her arm and steered her toward the kitchen, away from the rest of the partygoers. “How would you like to trade your educational vacation for a gay party cruise of the islands off Southyros?”

•••

Sansa waited until Walda stepped away before discreetly nudging the offending flower arrangement firmly into Walda’s quadrant of the apartment. Its tendrils edged out into Sansa’s area but with an arrangement that big it couldn’t be helped. She hustled away before she could be caught, then spotted Tysha standing across the room with a dreamy smile on her face. Sansa reached out to grab her friend’s hand. “Tell me everything,” she said as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Oh,” Tysha smiled and looked over her shoulder at Tyrion who raised his glass to her. “Not _everything_.” She turned back to Sansa. “Let’s just say I’m glad I’m officially no longer his teaching assistant. No intrusive forms to fill out.”

“I am so happy for you,” Sansa said as she embraced Tysha and rocked side to side.

Tysha sniffed. “Are you wearing an orange perfume?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” Sansa said. She’d share the whole story later, but first she wanted to hear Tysha’s.

Tysha pulled back and glanced around the room. “This is an interesting decorating scheme.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Ugh, all the beige. Notice how everyone is gravitating towards my more colorful areas of the room.”

She heard the distinct scraping of glass on wood as she felt more than saw the floral arrangement creeping back across the floor. She spun around to see Walda calmly rearranging her mason jars. Sansa inhaled sharply and repeated her mantra of the night, _No tinselitis, No tinselitis_. She grabbed Tysha’s hand and headed off towards the kitchen. She definitely needed a glass of wine.

“So tell me!” Sansa said as she grabbed a glass. “Do you have your toothbrush over there? Did he give you your own drawer?”

Tysha laughed. “Not so fast!” she said. “Not everyone moves in on the second date like you and Margaery. We’re taking it slow for now.”

***

Jaime looked at his brother, who was staring dreamily across the apartment at Tysha. “I’m going to marry that woman,” Tyrion said.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one who was saying I was rushing things and mocking me for buying Brienne four-monthiversary flowers?”

Tyrion smiled and looked at Tysha again. “Things move fast when you’ve found the right woman.”

Jaime looked over at Brienne, the blue of her blouse bringing out her eyes and the muscles flexing in her long pale freckled arm as she brought her wineglass to her lips. He held his own wineglass out to his brother for a toast. “To the right women.”

Tyrion clicked his glass and tipped it towards Tysha before taking a long drink. “To the right women.”

“We can have a double elopement,” Jaime said as he patted his pocket to make sure Brienne’s Stranger’s Eve gift was secure. “Do you think Father would explode or implode?”

“Speaking of dear old Dad, next time you want to leave one of Father’s dinners quickly,” Tyrion said, taking a sip of his wine, “please try to avoid excuses that torpedo his romantic relationship. It’s not good for any of us.”

“It did keep him busy for a few days,” Jaime said. “What did we get him for Stranger’s Eve anyway?”

“ _I_ got him a Valyrian steel letter opener shaped like a sword. I had ‘Hear Me Roar’ engraved on it. You owe me for that.”

“Nice,” Jaime said. “Did you give it to him already?”

“Give him something that could be used as a weapon? Of course not. I’ll give it to him at midnight, or when they leave, whichever is sooner. Hopefully, the leaving.” He glanced away. “Speaking of…” He gestured with his chin towards the other end of the room.

Jaime saw Olenna and Tywin emerging from the hallway that led to his bedroom, both wearing satisfied expressions. They watched the two elders take fresh glasses of wine and looked at each other. “Let’s make sure they didn’t break anything while they were working out their issues,” Jaime said.

He and his brother casually walked down the hall and looked in the bedroom. “My Gods, they trashed your room,” Tyrion said.

“No, it was like that,” Jaime mumbled. He looked at the sex swing. Something seemed off.

“I thought you hired my student Gilly to clean for you. Surely you can’t make this much of a mess in a day,” Tyrion said.

“These straps weren’t tangled before,” Jaime said ominously, using his cane to remove the swing from the hook. “I think they —”

“Stop right there,” Tyrion said. “Because if you say it I will envision it, and I did not bring enough Rhoynish to wipe the image out of my head.”

“But —” Jaime dangled the swing from the end of his cane, pushing it ever closer to Tyrion.

“Aaah!” Tyrion exclaimed, cutting Jaime off. “Burn it. We shall never speak of this again.”

Tyrion fled the bedroom. Jaime dumped the befouled sex swing into the trash can and wiped the edges of his cane on his pant leg before heading back to the party. Before he could step back into the living room, Serial Killer entered the hallway.

“Hi —” He cut himself short before he could blurt out his private nickname for the man. “Looking for the bathroom? It’s right down there.” He gestured with his cane. It really was proving to be quite handy.

“Looking for you,” said Roose. His voice was mild, but his icy eyes were penetrating. He stared at Jaime in silence for a minute. Jaime stared back, trying to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling down his spine. The man was a _veterinarian_. But he did have that Murder Room —

Roose twitched one eyebrow. “I know you’ve been watching,” he said to Jaime.

Ah, so that was it. Jaime tapped his cane on the floor and smirked. “Of course I was. Unlike some people, I was trained to learn every aspect of someone’s wants and needs in order to effectively target them.” Granted, he’d had only the one required MBA class in marketing, and spying on the target customer with binoculars may not have been what they had in mind, but the principle still held.

If anything, Roose became even calmer. “I will defend what’s mine,” he said.

Jaime rolled his eyes at this. “You don’t have to worry on that account,” he said. “Your wife was the luck of the draw.” It occurred to him that Roose may have seen him spying before Winter’s Seven began. “Although, of course, it’s important to be educated about every potential target in play in order to have full awareness when you draw up your attack.” There. That would make it seem like it was all part of his master plan.

Roose’s eyebrows raised just slightly. “Of course. I’ve always believed that, but I’ve also always believed it’s best not to overplay your...” he looked at Jaime’s recently injured hand, “…position.”

 _Huh_. Clearly Roose was more stealthy with the binoculars than Jaime was. Jaime was going to have to work on being more covert. Perhaps Roose was worried that he’d have to up his own gift game. “Well, if you’re thinking about the KitchenAid mixer, you don’t have to worry on my account,” Jaime said. “I don’t have any more surprises up my sleeve.”

“I’d done a thorough review. I wasn’t concerned,” Roose said. “But I appreciate your candor.” How was it that the man could make researching a mixer sound so creepy? “Does this mean you’re done with your surveillance?”

“Of Walda,” Jaime said. His eyes drifted over to Brienne. “I think you’ll find that now that this is over I’m really focused on just one target,” he said.

“I see,” Roose said, staring at Brienne with his icy eyes. “I take it I no longer have a need to be concerned.”

“Well, that depends on what happens with next year’s Secret Stranger, doesn’t it?” Jaime said, smirking again.

“I see,” Roose repeated.

Jaime thought back on yesterday’s decoration battle. “Although if I were you, I’d be more concerned about Starks. After yesterday I think Sansa will spend the next year plotting her revenge.”

“I see,” Roose said for the third time.

“Lovely to talk to you,” Jaime said. He would have given almost anyone else a hearty clap on the shoulder, but that creepy feeling down his spine warned him away. “Glass of wine?”

“I don’t imbibe. I find it dulls the senses,” Roose said, managing to make even that sound menacing. “But I believe I’ll have another slice of Walda’s prune cake. I recommend you try it.”

Jaime nodded. _Probably poisoned_ , he thought. He forced himself to keep a casual pace as he walked across the room to Brienne’s side and away from the creepy veterinarian. Walda chose that moment to walk to the center of the room and clap her hands to get everyone’s attention.

***

Gilly grinned to herself as Sansa stepped directly in front of Walda and announced that it was time to reveal their Secret Strangers. It had been a game of subtle one-ups-womanship between the two all evening long with left-handed compliments and sly digs, maneuvering the party guests to one quadrant or the other. The only thing they’d really agreed on that night was the flowers, the arrangement Margaery’s brother called ‘thirty-nine varieties of tentacled vagina.’ Gilly’d had to hold in her giggle at that too.

Sansa spoke again, “I know this has been a wonderful Winter’s Seven for all of us. Now it’s time for our Secret Strangers to be revealed. I’ll go first. I’d like to thank my Secret Stranger, because of all the wonderful, practical gifts I’ve gotten, especially those for Ser Whiskers. Thank you, Doctor Bolton, for all my Secret Stranger gifts.” She smiled at him.

Doctor Bolton took another bite of his prune cake and chewed slowly before turning his pale eyes on her. “No,” he said.

Gilly rolled her eyes. Sansa’s brow furrowed in confusion while Walda smiled sweetly and nudged the flower arrangement with her foot. Sansa took a step towards her. They looked close to another battle.

Mr. Baratheon coughed discreetly. “Actually, I have been your Secret Stranger.”

Sansa's forehead wrinkled in confusion before she blushed daintily and recovered her manners. “Oh Stannis, that was so thoughtful of you! I didn't think you even liked my new cat. Weren't you saying at the last COA meeting that pets might be banned?”

Gilly noticed that Mr. Baratheon’s cheeks colored. “A thorough review of the rules made clear that your cat is permissible. I'm certain if we did change the rules, we would certainly 'grandfather-in’ any existing pets.”

Sansa threw her arms around his neck in an awkward hug. He unbent slightly, just enough to put his arms around her.

“Oh, good,” Margaery’s handsome brother announced. “We’ll be bringing Whisky with us when we move in downstairs. Nice to know he’ll be welcome.”

Sansa head whipped around at that. “Ser Whiskers,” she said firmly, letting go of Mr. Baratheon.

Mr. Seaworth, who Gilly noted had a knack for defusing tense situations, spoke, “Well, if Stannis bought for you, Sansa, I'm guessing you bought for me?”

Sansa shook her head. “I think your Secret Stranger was…” Before she could finish her sentence, the room erupted in conversation, with everyone throwing out their ridiculous Secret Stranger guesses.

Gilly rolled her eyes, unable to take it anymore. She raised her voice and announced, “You all have it wrong.” Everyone quieted down and stared at her. She froze up for a second, looking at all the faces. _You go down there, you’ll get above yourself_ , she remembered her father saying. Then Brienne caught her eye and gave her an encouraging smile. Gilly found her voice. “Mr. Seaworth, Brienne is your Secret Stranger.

Davos went to Brienne and gave her a side hug and a kiss of thanks on the cheek. “Excellent gifts.”

Brienne smiled and hugged him back.

Jaime narrowed his eyes, looking confused.

Walda spoke up, in a sly move to wrest control of the party from Sansa. “So, Gilly, you seem to know it all, tell us,” she said, gesturing around at the crowd.

Gilly inhaled. “Fine. For starters, I've been Margaery's Secret Stranger.”

“Hey, I could have guessed that. I’ve loved all my gifts,” Margaery said with a hug and a smile for Gilly. Gilly suspected that it was a polite lie; she was pretty sure Margaery had at least regifted the makeup kit, although since Gilly herself had regifted it she couldn’t blame the other woman. Margaery gave her another squeeze. “And the rosebush is perfect.” There was something about the way Margaery’s eyes lit up that made Gilly realize that, at least, was true.

Gilly accepted Margaery’s thanks and went on. “Walda, Jaime has been your Secret Stranger, but he got mixed up on the spending limit, so all of your gifts have been over the top.”

“Waste of money,” Tywin murmured, taking a healthy sip of wine.

Walda jumped up and down, hair and other things bouncing. “The Secret Stranger gifts have been perfect, just perfect. You got me everything I ever wanted.” She approached Jaime as if to embrace him but Jaime reached out and patted her on the shoulder before she could get her arms around him.

“You’re welcome, Walda. It was my pleasure,” Jaime said. Gilly noticed that he subtly maneuvered his cane in between himself and Walda while he smiled and glanced over at Doctor Bolton.

Doctor Bolton was staring coldly Jaime’s way and turning his fork over in his hand. Walda might have liked her gifts but clearly the vet was none too happy about them.

Gilly spoke up before Doctor Bolton found a non-traditional use for the flatware. “Doctor Bolton, based on who everyone else got, I figure you’ve been getting gifts for the downstairs Mr. Baratheon, but I guess he’s been in rehab.”

“A recovery facility,” Mr. Baratheon murmured as he looked down at little Shireen.

Gilly took his cue and decided to be a bit more careful with her wording, “While Brienne has been buying gifts for Mr. Seaworth, Mr. Seaworth has been buying gifts for Jaime.”

“Gilly, we’re neighbors, call me Davos.” He smiled at her before waggling his half fingers at Jaime, “I know a thing or two about recovering from an injury. Figured I could help you out with the physical therapy. Thought about getting you stuff for your bird-watching, but those binoculars seem to be all you need.”

Doctor Lannister choked on his wine. Gilly could’ve clarified what Jaime was using the binoculars for, but she let that go. She wasn’t going to tattle on her boss.

Jaime raised his glass. “Excellent gifts, Davos. They were so well-chosen I thought that Brienne had bought them for me.”

Brienne looked at Jaime, “Why did you think I was buying you gifts?”

Jaime kissed her bare shoulder. “They were all designed to help me rehab my injuries. I assumed you wanted to make sure I healed quickly.” He raised one eyebrow at her.

She blushed.

He whispered in her ear. It was probably something dirty from the way she was blushing even harder. Then again, most of what Jaime said to her made Brienne turn red. It was becoming her regular skin color. It still wouldn’t mask the hickeys she was always trying so hard to hide.

“Walda has been baking all of her gifts for Mr. Baratheon,” Gilly continued, “but that one was easy to figure out.”

He shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the waistband of his pants. “Thank you, Walda. Your cookies were enjoyed by all.”

“I know you love cookies. Shireen told me.” She smiled at the little girl. “Hot Pie gave me so many suggestions at my lesson today.” Walda beamed at Jaime before turning back to Stannis, Doctor Bolton’s eyes grew colder. “Our cooking lesson went so well. Sharna thinks I have potential.”

Gilly thought it best to cut Walda off again before she could take over. “Sansa has been buying gifts for Doctor Bolton,” Gilly continued.

Walda smiled sweetly at the redhead, “Well, I guessed that ages ago. Roosie’s gifts have had such a _rustic_ quality to them.” Walda made the word rustic sound like a sugar-dusted insult.

Sansa frowned. Before she could speak, Doctor Bolton said, “They were greatly appreciated.” Gilly thought his voice sounded just a mite less frigid than usual.

Brienne spoke up, her brow furrowed, “But Gilly, I thought you got me this,” Brienne said, touching the FitBit on her wrist. “It was exactly the one I wanted. Who else would know to get this for me?”

“Oh, Brienne, you are like the cover model for one of my aerobics DVDs,” Walda said. Considering the amount that Walda baked, Gilly imagined she had to work out just to keep from getting plumper. “There’s not a person in this complex that wouldn’t get you workout gear if they drew you.”

“Nope,” Gilly said. “There’s one person who wouldn’t.” She looked over at Shireen and decided not to mention exactly what kind of gifts Brienne had been getting.

“Other people might get me workout gear,” Brienne said, “but this is the exact thing that I wanted,” she said. “Color and all.”

“Brienne, that FitBit and all your other exercise stuff is from Jaime,” Gilly said.

Brienne’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?” she asked Jaime.

Gilly caught Jaime’s panicked look and thought about the five hundred dragons he’d given her yesterday. Gilly Craster wasn’t a rat and she owed him. “Jaime knew because I told him what you liked.”

Jaime looked relieved. He raised his glass to Gilly and gave her a wink.

“But if Jaime gave me the workout stuff, then my other gifts —” Gilly had seen Brienne’s face go red before, but it was the first time she’d seen her roommate go pale.

Margaery lifted her glass to the tall blonde and winked. Brienne smiled back, the most forced smile Gilly ever did see. Jaime pulled the mortified Brienne closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. They’d be having an interesting talk later tonight.

“And you and Jaime have been buying me gifts because the guy downstairs hasn’t gotten me anything,” Gilly finished. The entire room was silent, staring at her.

Doctor Lannister winked at her and clapped softly, Tysha grinning in approval beside him.

Gilly thought she might sink into the floor. She had gotten above herself. It was Shireen Baratheon who spoke first, looking up at Gilly in awe. “Gilly, you were very nice to me before and you are very smart. You’re like Miss Memory in that movie. If I move in full time with Daddy and Davos, will you help me with my homework?”

Gilly looked down at the little girl with a smile and wondered how much she could get paid for tutoring.

***

The party was in post-Secret Stranger chaos. Margaery had noticed how pale Brienne had gone when she heard who’d been giving her the sexy gifts. She was trying to find a subtle way to work her way over and smooth things over with the tall blonde when Sansa caught her hand. “I know it’s not quite midnight yet, but I have one more gift for you,” Sansa whispered in her ear.

“Is it here?” Margaery asked.

“No, but I think we can sneak out without anyone noticing.” She pulled on Margaery’s hand and the two of them slipped out the door and down a flight of stairs.

Sansa led her down the corridor. “I know we haven’t been connecting lately and I know it’s my fault. First I was too busy with school and all my Winter’s Seven projects.” She laced her fingers with Margaery’s.

“I understand,” Margaery began but Sansa placed a finger on her lips as she led them through the complex.

“Then my mother came to visit, and then the toilet exploded and we had to leave our apartment. Since we’ve been staying at Brienne’s I haven’t been very comfortable…” Sansa came to a stop in front of their own doorway and put one hand on the knob. She looked up at Margaery through her eyelashes and gave her a naughty smile, that smile Margaery knew was only for her.

Margaery cupped Sansa’s cheek in her hand. “I appreciate this. Sansa, I do, and I want you, but I can wait. We can’t in there. Not until we do something about the Ser Whiskers problem.”

Sansa reached for the zipper on the front of Margaery’s dress. “I did do something about that problem. That’s where I was all afternoon. As long as you don’t mind the smell of orange extract, I think we can spend a little alone time in our own bedroom, in our own bed.”

Margaery slipped one hand around Sansa’s waist and opened the door with the other.

***

Brienne was talking to Tyrion and Tysha in the living room. Jaime had kept himself at the ready to play human body shield for her if his father walked over, but so far Olenna seemed to be keeping him busy. Jaime didn’t want to think about just how Olenna had been doing that. He went into the kitchen to pick at some of the leftovers.

Jaime heard a buzzing sound. It took him a minute to figure out where it was coming from; then he realized Brienne had left her wallet, phone and keys on the shelf under the corkboard in the spot he’d come to think of as hers. He glanced at the screen. The number was blocked, just like telemarketers so often did. Maybe he could make getting her on a Do Not Call list part of her five-monthiversary gift. He picked up the phone. “Hello, Brienne’s not available right now,” he said. “And I believe it’s too late for telemarketers to call.”

He heard warm female laughter. “Oh, I’m not a telemarketer,” the voice said. “I’m family. I just wanted to wish my Brienne a happy Stranger’s Eve. Who’s this?”

“This is her boyfriend, Jaime.” Was that a little too much stress on the word “boyfriend?”

“Oh, Jaime, of course!” the woman said. “BeeBee’s said such wonderful things about you when we chatted. It’s so nice to finally get to talk to you! I’m Brienne’s mother.”

Jaime smiled. “I’m glad to speak to you. Your daughter is…” He looked out into the living room. Brienne had loosened up enough to tell Tyrion and Tysha a story and she was smiling; he was glad they were finally seeing what charmed him so much. “Your daughter is amazing,” he said reverently.

“Well, I’m glad she’s finally found someone who thinks highly of her,” Brienne’s mother said.

Jaime could see his father making his way toward Brienne as Tyrion and Tysha walked away. “I’m sorry, but we had our Lannister family dinner tonight, and I can see my father is about to leave. Can I have Brienne call you back?” he said.

“Lannister, that’s right. Now she didn’t tell me — are you one of the Lannisport Lannisters?” Brienne’s mother asked.

Jaime snorted. “Don’t ever let my father hear you say that.”

“Oh!” she said. “Your father must be Tywin Lannister then! What an interesting man.”

“That’s one word for it,” Jaime said, looking out into the living room. His father was speaking and Brienne was turning red.

“Listen,” the woman said. “I was also calling BeeBee to schedule my visit. We’ve been discussing it for so long, and I wanted to tell her that I’m taking a little break this coming weekend and coming to King’s Landing.”

“Well, we’ll have to have dinner,” Jaime said distractedly, watching as his father backed Brienne into the floral arrangement, effectively trapping her.

“Let’s make it a big family dinner,” Brienne’s mother said. “I just can’t wait to meet your father and your sister and brother. And maybe Brienne’s sisters can come too. It’ll be a giant family get-together. How about this coming Saturday?”

“Sounds delightful,” Jaime said. “I —”

“I know, you have to go. Don’t tell BeeBee just yet. We can make it a surprise. Have a wonderful Stranger’s Eve!” she said.

“Sure, fine,” Jaime hung up the phone and went to Brienne’s rescue.

***

Brienne’s eyes darted around the room, searching for help. Jaime’s father was asking her something else about Tarth. She was practically tongue-tied at Tywin Lannister’s questioning. The man’s very presence made her nervous. Where was Jaime? He’d been close by all night. If he wasn’t touching her, he was grinning at her, rolling his eyes and making faces or sending her smoldering looks. Right now though, when she needed him, he was nowhere to be found. “I really couldn’t tell you anything about the shipping port strike on Tarth. My father still lives there, but I haven’t been in a long time,” Brienne said.

“Your father? You indicated he travels?”

Brienne nodded. Her stomach was turning. Tywin Lannister was shorter than she was, yet he still managed to make her feel small.

“When will he next be in King’s Landing?” Tywin asked.

“This coming weekend. We’re having dinner on Saturday.” Brienne answered before she thought.

Tywin’s pale green eyes gleamed. “Excellent. I look forward to meeting him.”

“Well — uh I mean, I wasn’t thinking—” Brienne tried to explain. “Just Jaime —” Her stomach clenched in fear.

“Ms. Tarth, is there a problem with meeting your family?”

 _If only you knew_ , Brienne thought. If it was just her and her father she could manage him, find ways to minimize his behavior. The other side of the family, however — She blocked them from her thoughts and took a deep breath. “Of course not. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely family dinner.”

Jaime slid up next to her and put his arm around her waist before placing a quick kiss on her lips. “Family dinner? I just talked to —”

Before Jaime could finish, Shireen Baratheon tugged at Brienne’s arm. “Excuse me? Could you tell me where to find your ladies’ room?”

“Of course.” Brienne took the opportunity to escape, squeezing Jaime’s hand apologetically as she walked away. She almost hoped the toilet would explode if it would help her avoid a further interrogation from Tywin Lannister.

***

Tywin watched his eldest son as Jaime watched the tall blonde woman walked away. “Jaime, is that woman living here?”

“That woman, as you call her, is my girlfriend, and where she lives is not your concern.” Jaime turned back to him.

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “She indicated her family will be in town next weekend. I will make dinner reservations.”

Jaime furrowed his brow. “I didn’t realize Brienne knew her mother and sisters would be here next weekend. I thought it was supposed to be a surprise.”

Tywin fought to keep his face impassive. Her mother and sisters as well. This would be a perfect opportunity to interrogate all of her suspect relations. “Yes. I will have Olenna plan dinner. She has three sisters, you say?”

***

The party was mostly over, although Doctor Lannister and Tysha were still hanging around. Gilly brought one last tray of food into the kitchen and tried to figure out if there was a polite way to ask for some of the leftovers. They’d help get her through the winter break.

“Gilly,” Jaime said from behind her.

She turned around. Brienne was standing with him, too. “I know this is taking a long time; there’s a lot of stuff,” she said apologetically.

“You have gone above and beyond tonight, Gilly,” Brienne said with a smile.

“You need some sleep. The dishes will still be here in the morning,” Jaime said. He pulled an envelope off the cork board. “Besides, you’re going to need some time to pack.”

Her heart sank for a moment. Was Brienne kicking her out? Eviction notices weren’t usually delivered with a smile. She thought of her father and the trailer park. Well, sometimes they were. She took the envelope he handed to her and opened it up.

It took her a minute to realize what she was looking at. “A plane ticket? Home?” she said in awe.

“On Tuesday,” Jaime said. “You’ll still have tomorrow to clean all this up.”

“Jaime,” Brienne said.

“The girl needs a little pocket money for her trip,” Jaime said.

Gilly was still staring at the ticket. Seat 1B! If it was anything like the bus, she’d be sitting right behind the pilot. On the bus she always tried to sit in the middle — not close enough to the door to get the draft when it opened, not close enough to the toilet to smell it when it overflowed. But a free plane ticket was a free plane ticket, no matter if it were a bad seat.

“I ain’t never been on a plane before,” Gilly mumbled, then cringed inwardly at her own poor grammar.

“There are certain things you’re not allowed to put in your carry-on,” Brienne said. “I’ll help you pack.”

“Now go get some sleep,” Jaime said, peering back into the living room. “I may have to hide the rest of the wine to get Tyrion to leave.”

***

Jaime held out his hand to Tysha. “I’m glad my brother’s finally found a woman who can put up with him.”

Tysha shook his hand and grinned. “Funny, he says the same thing about Brienne.”

Jaime looked over his shoulder to see Tyrion engaged in a protracted discussion with Brienne. She was smiling and looked at ease. Other than the Secret Stranger reveal and the interrogation by his father, she seemed to have enjoyed herself tonight. He felt a tap on his arm. He turned back to Tysha with a raised brow.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

Jaime shrugged. He hadn’t and he didn’t feel particularly bad about it. Tysha appeared nice enough and he liked the way she smiled at his brother, but he was more interested in Brienne. He hadn’t yet given her a Stranger’s Eve gift and he was starting to get nervous about it. He reached into his pocket and turned the small object over with his fingers. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

She nodded as Tyrion and Brienne came their way. Tysha winked at Jaime and turned to Tyrion. “My feet are killing me. I think it’s time we head home.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Jaime swung Brienne around and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed her thoroughly. “I have been waiting all night to do that.”

A tell-tale red splotch appeared underneath her chin. “You kissed me more than once tonight. In front of everyone. _In front of your father_ ,” she hissed.

“But those weren’t real kisses.” Jaime argued as he walked her through the living room. “More like pecks really.” He spun around and fell back on the couch, pulling her down on top of him with a delicious “Oof.”

“Jaime, what are you doing?” she asked as his fingers inched under the waistband of her pants.

He wrapped his good leg around hers. “I am trying to make out with my girlfriend, but she’s being a stubborn wench and wearing far too many clothes.” He untucked her blouse.

“Remember the last time two times we were on the couch? Your knee.” She pulled back from him and sat up.

He moved into a sitting position as well, and pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him. He rested one hand on her thigh. “You’re right,” he said. “This is a better position.” He went back to work on her shirt with the other hand as he nibbled her earlobe.

“Jaime,” she groaned, running her hands through his hair. He loved the way she said his name.

She stiffened against him, “Jaime?” She pushed at his shoulder. “Did you know you can see —?”

 _No_. In this position she could see straight out his windows and across the courtyard. The other residents would be home now with their lights on. He ran his fingers across the soft bare skin of her ribs to distract her. “Wench, I’m trying to unwrap my Stranger’s Eve gift,” he whispered in her ear as he reached between them to work on the button of her pants.

She withdrew her hands from his shoulders and covered her face. “Oh gods, Jaime. Those Secret Stranger gifts. I thought they were from you because you were,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “bored with me.”

He pulled her hips more firmly against him so she could be certain of how not-bored he was at the moment. “I thought you were suggesting those things because I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

Brienne shook her head, “Oh no, Jaime. No. I mean — I would never have — I’d never done anything like that with anyone —” She tucked her head into his neck and he could feel the adorable heat of her blush.

He chuckled, “And here I thought you had a hidden kinky streak.”

She shook her head violently this time. “No. _No_.”

He pulled down the collar of her shirt and nipped the side of her neck. She shivered. “So you’d never done any of those things before? The handcuffs? The sex game? The swing?” he asked, hoping she’d never tried those things with The Asshole.

“No, Jaime. I only brought those over because I thought they were from you,” she mumbled. “But they were from _Margaery_.”

He knew that Smirky Lesbian was with Derby Girl, but he still couldn’t forget that time she’d tried to kiss Brienne. Had he made it clear enough to her that Brienne was his and his alone? If he hadn’t, he figured Brienne had. He wasn’t the type to share and Brienne wasn’t interested anyway. “But did you like it, those things we did?”

”Yeeeeees,” she said slowly. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he said, thinking that he especially needed to replace the sex swing soon. “I like you with the fun toys…and without the toys. Brienne, I like everything about you.” He flattened his palms on her back, trying to ease her tension and embarrassment. “The way you feel. The way you look.” He buried his face in her hair. “The way you smell. The way you taste.” He was just about to pull her into a kiss when she reared back, face flaming.

“The body paints. They were from Margaery. You didn’t need to do _that_.” She looked mortified.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “No, the body paints really were from me. And how many times do I have to tell you, I enjoy doing _that_. I enjoyed doing _that_ with the paints. I enjoyed doing _that_ in the shower this morning and if you would just take off your clothes, I’d like to do _that_ right now.” He fumbled with her zipper.

She shook her head and looked off to the side, chewing on her lower lip. Willing himself not to be distracted by a peek of blue panties, he put his arms around her and pulled close. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She looked at him, eyes full of misery. “You got me all sorts of wonderful gifts for Winter’s Seven and I didn’t get you anything.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “This has been, without a doubt, the very best Winter’s Seven of my life, and all because of you, not because of presents, you stupid, stubborn wench.” He slapped his hand against her rear for emphasis.

“My name is Brienne,” she huffed and smiled shyly at him. “I did get you something for Stranger’s Eve.”

He raised a brow at her. “I thought I was unwrapping it.” He looked down at her unfastened pants suggestively.

She rolled her eyes and rose from his lap to get a package from the table by the door. He took the opportunity to retrieve her gift from the kitchen. They met back on the couch.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it.” She took a deep breath. “I hope you like it.” She handed him his gift.

Whatever it was, he knew he’d love it because it was from her. He tore into the wrapped package to reveal a framed photograph, perfect for his nightstand or desk. It was the fourth in their first string of photobooth pictures, when he’d said something to make her blush and she’d ducked her head into his shoulder. He was grinning like an idiot at the camera. He laughed. “I’d never forget our fourth date. Now I can share the evidence.”

She pulled the picture out of his hands. “This was our first date,” she said.

He snatched it away. “It was our _fourth_ date and it’s perfect. Now open yours.”

She narrowed her eyes and began to slowly unwrap her much larger gift. “It was our first date. We went for dinner at the Tyroshi place and then to see a movie.”

“Fourth date. First was the night you brought me my lantern. Second was when you made me lunch after we talked at the mailboxes. Third was when I brought ice cream over to your place.” She was excruciatingly slow at unwrapping.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Those weren’t dates, Jaime. Those were just us hanging out.”

“Did we kiss goodbye all those times?” he asked.

She blushed and slid her eyes from his. “Well, you kissed me, but that doesn’t make them dates.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

“Does too. Now get on with that unwrapping, wench. I could have had you naked three times over by now and you haven’t opened even one present.”

Her blush returned, leaving red blotches on her cheeks. She pulled out his gift, an eleven-by-fourteen framed photo from his set of photobooth pictures, the final one in the series, after he’d kissed her. Her lips were red and swollen and her hair mussed and they were just looking at each other.

“Oh Jaime,” she looked up at him, eyes wide and the most beautiful shade of blue.

“See, we know each other too well.”

She ran her fingertip across his jawline in the picture before setting it on the coffee table. She looked up and then leaned in to kiss him. “Thank you, Jaime. This has been my best Winter’s Seven as well.”

“I have one more gift for you,” he said and reached into his pocket, cupping it in his hand. “Close your eyes.”

She looked at him warily and then did as he asked. He took her hand and nervously placed his final Winter’s Seven gift in her palm.

She opened her eyes and looked at the key. She held it up between her fingers. “Jaime?”

“It’s the key to my heart,” he joked awkwardly.

She frowned at him.

“No, really, it’s the key to here. My place. Our place.”

She bit her lip. “Is this about last night? About what I said?” Her eyes darted around the room. “You heard me?”

“Brienne, I’m giving you this key because I liked coming home to find you hanging from the ceiling.” She blushed at that. “And I like you in my shower and you in my kitchen and you on my couch and I especially like you in my bed and I want you to be here, as much as you want, whenever you want.”

She palmed the key and took a deep breath, “Jaime, what I said last night. I meant it. I —”

“I love you, Brienne,” he interrupted.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just realized I forgot to add that part.”

Her eyes glowed. “I love you too.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Good.” He tugged at her shirt some more. “Now can you please get naked? I’ve had to watch you all evening looking so damn sexy and it’s been driving me crazy.”

She threaded her fingers in his hair and tilted her head down to whisper in his ear. “I’m wearing the striped socks you got me.”

Those bulky, thigh-high striped wool socks. Who needed lingerie? He’d never wanted a woman more in his entire life. He stood and jerked her up with him. “To the bedroom, my saucy Wench.”

She started to lead the way, more confident than she’d been all week. “And maybe sometimes we can use those Secret Stranger gifts?”

“Definitely, but I’m going to order a new swing.”

She turned back to him, “Why?”

“Don’t ask,” he said as they fell onto the bed together. “Tonight we can do anything else you want, Brienne. Anything at all.”

She kissed his neck and pulled him closer to her. He could feel her cheeks heating, “Even _that_?”

“Most definitely _that_ , but you’re leaving the socks on.”

***

Ferny Craster heard the dogs barking from inside her trailer. “Shut the hell up!” she shouted at them as she walked out. Figured that the fat Crow would show up just as they were about to reveal who did it on _CSI: White Harbor_ causing all that loud barking and making her miss it. The Crow was bound to have a letter from Gilly, though, and half-likely to run in fear from the dogs.

She could see him in the distance as he walked toward the gate, just a dark shape moving up the walk. But as he got closer she realized it wasn't the fat Crow at all; this dark shape was half his size.

“You ain’t our usual Crow,” Ferny said. As he came closer she could see he was good looking, with dark, curly hair and a broody expression on his face.

“I'll be taking over the route for a while,” he said in a weary voice, “until we can get someone new up here to take over.”

“Did the fat kid get eaten by a direwolf?” Ferny asked. That would make for some good gossip around the trailer park. She heard a motorcycle in the distance.

The brooding young man smiled just a little at that. “No. He got a transfer down to King's Landing to work a city route,” he said. “Raven routes are very competitive. I'm proud of him for getting it. But it leaves us short-handed for a while.”

The motorcycle roared up in front of the trailer park. The rider, dressed in grey, came to a skidding halt mere feet from the Crow. The Crow didn't flinch. The rider took her helmet off, revealing bright red hair that went spilling down her back. “Ferny, get your ass in gear! We're goin' out to dinner. Chop-chop!” Ygritte said. “Or are you too busy trying to make it with the mailman?”

The Crow cleared his throat. “Nice bike,” he said.

“You bet it is. Too bad they don't give one to you Crows. Guess they want to keep you in shape by makin' ya walk,” Ygritte said.

“Didn't work for the last one,” Ferny said. She sighed. She was never going to find out who done it on _CSI_. “I'll go get my purse. Thanks for the mail — what's your name?”

“Jon. Jon Snow,” he said.

Ferny laughed as she looked at the drifts against the trailers. “Well, ain't that just painfully appropriate?”

“See ya 'round, Crow,” Ygritte said as she walked through the gate. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “Are you starin’ at my ass, Jon Snow?”

The Crow turned bright red. Ygritte and Ferny giggled as they walked away.

As soon as they got a few steps into the trailer park, she leaned close to Ferny. “He's cute. And he's got balls. He didn't even flinch when I pulled up. Maybe I oughta come by to take you out to dinner tomorrow too so I can give him my number.”

Ferny rolled her eyes. “What happened to the last guy you were dating?”

Ygritte shook her head. “I’m never datin’ someone I work with again. And speakin’ of work,” she said, bumping Ferny with her shoulder, “Mance says he’s lookin’ for a receptionist.”

“What, be one of you Freelance Folk makin’ video games?” Ferny said. “I got a job. And I can’t program computers like you.”

“You don’t have to program computers, just answer phones. You wanna manage your dad’s trailer park forever?” Ygritte said.

Don’t get above yourself, Ferny heard her dad’s voice in her head. _You’re lucky I gave you a job. You don’t know what it’s like working for what’s not family_. Then she thought about Gilly down in King’s Landing. Gilly and her new friends and Secret Strangers. Ferny shrugged, pretending she didn’t feel the nerves all jumbled up in her stomach. “Could give it a try, I guess.” She opened the door to her trailer. “But you gotta pick out what I’m wearin’ to the interview.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime thinks something in this fic that is a direct shout out to our inspiration, [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice/works), and her fabulous Chapter 14 of [Modern Problems](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1313767/chapters/4816356). Go read that and see if you can spot it.
> 
> Only the Epilogue left!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter's Seven is over. The denizens of Kingsgate Arms enjoy their Stranger's Eve gifts. Gilly gets a surprise at the airport. Sam bumps into someone. Brienne tests out the features on Jaime's washing machine. Jaime hears from his new neighbors.

It was Tuesday morning, and despite Jaime’s best efforts to destroy Gilly’s hard work at cleaning up the place, things were still neat as a pin. Except in the bedroom, of course, where he and Brienne had once again left chaos in their wake. After he kissed her goodbye repeatedly, Jaime leaned his cane against the wall, settled down in his big chair with his morning cup of coffee and picked up his binoculars to watch his favorite daytime reality show — his neighbors.

Walda had clearly taken her lesson with Hot Pie to heart. She was once again talking to an invisible camera as she rolled out what looked like a pie crust, but this time she was doing it with more aplomb. She ran one hand along the hot pink KitchenAid mixer on her counter and said something that Jaime imagined was appreciative, given the small satisfied smile that Serial Killer wore. Just as Serial Killer was about to go out the door to work, he looked out the big picture window of their living room straight at Jaime, frowned, and pulled the curtain.

Ah, well. Jaime’s favorite cooking show might be on temporary hiatus, but there was plenty more to watch. The Three Bears came out onto the courtyard carrying a matched set of luggage, with a big bag for Uptight Bear, a carry-on sized bag for Bearded Bear, and a mini-roller bag for Baby Bear. Smirky Lesbian and Derby Girl burst out of their section of the building and nearly ran into the family. There were smiles, laughs and hugs all around; even Uptight Bear awkwardly patted the girls on the shoulder and curved his lips in some facsimile of good cheer, a shocking level of demonstrativeness. The girls had roller bags and totes in hand and matching giant sun hats, totally inappropriate for a Westeros winter, on their heads. Jaime had heard they were going on some sort of a cruise; yesterday at the mailboxes Smirky had smilingly said to her brother, “The male eye candy on board does nothing for me, but Sansa will enjoy the view and I get the benefits.”

Speaking of Smirky’s brother, there he came up the steps to the courtyard, box in hand. Jaime saw his eyes flitting around the courtyard and leaned back before he could be spotted. Flash, as Jaime had mentally nicknamed him, had done a tour of duty as a sharpshooter and then gone back into combat as a war photographer. Jaime figured Flash’s eagle eye would probably catch him quickly if he wasn’t more subtle. Maybe he could sic Serial Killer on him. That might provide some entertainment.

From his seat, Jaime could see the kisses Flash traded with his sister and Derby Girl. Uptight Bear’s other brother soon joined them. The more Jaime looked at him the more he seemed like a younger and better-looking version of the playboy brother that had recently gone into rehab. The Young Stag wasn’t holding anything, but he commanded the movers with an air of authority. He greeted the two women and his niece with warmth and Bearded Bear with respect. Then he said something that made Upight Bear return to his normally scheduled scowl and Bearded Bear frown. Baby Bear poked The Young Stag in the stomach. Jaime chuckled to himself. It looked like he’d have a new drama to watch for the rest of the winter.

Two more people joined the impromptu courtyard party — and in Jaime’s eyes, one of them was the star of the show. Brienne’s cheeks were pink with cold, but her eyes sparkled above the gigantic striped scarf that always made Jaime want to unwrap her. Gilly walked just behind her, looking bewildered at the smooth movement of the roller bag she was towing. Though Brienne had complained that Jaime was overdoing his gifts with the plane ticket, clearly she wasn’t above overdoing her own gifts to Gilly as well. They greeted the crowd in the courtyard as they hurried toward Brienne’s car. Brienne nodding and smiling at everyone. Jaime already knew she’d be keeping an eye on the Three Bears’ unit and watering the Lesbians’ plants; he’d spent the early morning trying to convince her that they needed to use the opportunity to expand the geography of their sexual experience. She hadn’t acquiesced yet, but he thought he was wearing her down.

And as fast as it had begun, everyone went their separate ways — Brienne and Gilly off to drive to the airport, the Young Lesbians to the limo to the cruise terminal, the Three Bears to a van that awaited, driven by some dapper friend of Bearded Bear, to take them to the train station; and The Young Stag and Flash, into the stairwell and up to the apartment below him.

Jaime leaned back in his chair and picked up his big white history book. After an argument with Father, it was agreed he would return to work tomorrow, although Jaime planned for it to be just part-time. Brienne was going to be back soon and he wanted to take advantage of this last day at home with her. In the meantime he could get some reading in or maybe a quick nap. _It was sure to be quiet_ , he thought.

Just as he turned the page, he heard the loud thud of boxes below him. Okay, maybe today wouldn’t be quiet…

***

Gilly thought the airport would be like the big bus terminal, or maybe like Baelor Union Station. Her jaw dropped when she saw the gigantic metal letters “KLX” standing outside the airport, and the signs hanging overhead. “I didn’t know there were seven terminals,” she said.

“Yes, named for each of the Seven,” Brienne said, looking at the signs. “It looks like Westeros Airlines domestic flights go out of the Maiden Terminal. You just need to find your gate.”

“How many gates do they have?” Gilly muttered. She didn’t want to look like a hick, but she didn’t know an airport could be so big.

Brienne glanced at the clock. “Gilly, we’re here four hours early. I could take you out to breakfast before you go,” she said.

“I had some yogurt,” Gilly mumbled. Brienne had already been so nice, buying her the bag and giving her a ride. Gilly took a deep breath and tried to make herself sound cheerful rather than intimidated. “’Sides, when else am I gonna see an airport? I’m gonna watch the planes take off.”

“All right. Well, you won’t have to worry about missing your flight,” Brienne said as she pulled to the side.

A few minutes later, Gilly was standing on the curb waving goodbye. She squared her shoulders and walked inside, stepping to the end of the line labeled “Economy,” full of other people with suitcases waiting to get to the Westeros Airlines counter.

It took about fifteen minutes before she got to the front of the line. “Welcome to Westeros Air. Can I see your ID please?” the woman asked, not even looking up.

Gilly handed over her driver’s license. “And I have this,” she said, handing over the papers that Jaime had given her.

The woman scanned the papers and her eyes went wide. “Oh, no no no! This won’t do at all,” she muttered to herself.

Gilly froze with fear. What had she done wrong?

Before she could say anything, the woman was flagging down someone else behind the counter, who came up to look at the papers Gilly had handed over. The second woman smiled. “Miss Craster, will you come with me, please?” she said.

Gilly wondered for a split second if she could make a break for it, but she knew the crowd behind her would be able to stop her before she got far. Shoulders slumping, she followed the Westeros Airlines employee.

“Miss Craster, we were supposed to be alerted when you arrived. It was an inexcusable slip-up on our part. We weren’t expecting you so early.” The woman whisked her past the long security line that Brienne had warned her about and off to another security area, where there was no line at all. In two seconds, they’d gone through the scanner and the woman had Gilly’s bag. “Right this way,” she said to Gilly, walking at a fast clip and giving Gilly no time at all to look around at all of the shiny things in the terminal.

Gilly trotted after her, looking left and right at the gates, the planes she could see through the windows, the fast-food places along the wall. She spotted a Burger Khal, and the smell of the flame sauce made her stomach growl. But the woman kept on walking right past the Burger Khal to a pair of wooden doors with the Westeros Airlines logo on them. Gilly’s stomach grumbled at the smell of fries and burgers cooking up. Well, maybe the place the woman was bringing her had food like the Kings’ cafeteria. The burgers weren’t as good as Burger Khal, but maybe it would be free.

When they stepped through the wooden doors, suddenly everything got real quiet. She couldn’t smell Burger Khal at all; instead there was a faint floral scent. The woman’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she led Gilly to a desk where a man and a woman sat. “Miss Craster,” she murmured to them, handing over Gilly’s bag.

The man jumped up immediately. “Miss Craster! We’re delighted to have you with us today. Let me take your coat and escort you to your lounge.”

“Sure,” Gilly said uneasily, removing her threadbare coat and handing it to the man. She wondered if she’d ever see it again. _My lounge?_ she thought. Wasn’t that what fancy people called the bathroom?

He smiled, hung up her coat as if it were the finest in the land, and led her through a second set of doors into a gigantic room with fancy leather couches and chairs, the kind that were all squared off with metal piping, kind of like what was in Dr. Lannister’s office but nicer. Along one wall were trays and trays of food. “Is that lunch?” she asked. It was much fancier than Kings’.

“For them,” the man said as he led her past the food. “But you don’t have to eat in the _business_ lounge.” There was just the teeniest bit of contempt in his last two words, enough to let Gilly know they were going somewhere better. But what could be better than this? There were business people and fancy people in fur coats and stacks of magazines and newspapers and a big picture window showing all the planes and she was pretty sure she saw that TV star Chataya sitting in the corner behind sunglasses.

They walked by a blonde woman who had a cup of coffee in one hand and was yammering into the cell phone in her other. “You mean I have to come _back_ to this shithole this weekend? I don’t care how rich BeeBee’s supposed boyfriend is, whatever dinner he’s taking us out to is not worth it.” She looked Gilly up and down as she passed and then turned away.

Gilly snorted at the idea of King’s Landing being a shithole. Clearly the woman needed to take a trip to her dad’s trailer park sometime.

At the other end of the long room, past all the people, the man led her to another door. Where the big wooden doors had been fancy, this one was subtle. He punched in a code and the door slid silently open. As Gilly walked through, she saw the tiny label above the lock. _First Class Lounge_ , it read.

If the entryway to the business lounge had been quiet, this was like having her ears muffled. Thick carpet lined the floor. The room was filled with couches and chairs that were even more boxy and less decorated, which Gilly had learned meant they were _really_ expensive. There was a bar against the wall, and more doors with little signs against the wall. And aside from people in uniform, no one was there but her.

“I’ll put your bag in your private room in the back,” the man said quietly as he walked away.

 _Private room?_ Gilly thought. This whole place was her private room.

Gilly peeked through the glass doors into one of the side rooms. There were two salon chairs and two very bored looking ladies chatting with each other. One of them saw Gilly through the glass and her eyes went wide. Before Gilly could get away, the woman raced to the door and flung it open.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to —” Gilly said, hands up.

“Maiden’s breath, please tell me you want to get your hair done,” the short, curvy stylist said, smiling.

“I, um, I don’t have any —” Gilly stammered as the willowy second stylist floated up. Both of the women looked like something out of one of Margaery’s fashion magazines.

“First time in the lounge? It’s all part of the service,” the second stylist said, reaching out to touch Gilly’s hair. “So much raw material to work with here,” she murmured.

The curvy redhead looked her up and down and smiled. “Are you going home for Winter Break, honey? Back up North?” she said.

“Yup,” Gilly said, standing stock-still and staring at them skeptically.

“Please let us do you over! I’m tired of doing old lady hair,” the curvy one said. “It doesn’t cost.”

Gilly shook her head. “Haircuts can’t be free.” She did have the extra money Jaime had given her for cleaning up after the party, but she wanted to save it up. She could get a trim at Best Cuts for five dragons when there was a special running.

The willowy one raised her eyebrows. “You are new to this, aren’t you? It’s not free, _exactly_. It’s all rolled in to the ticket price.”

Gilly looked at them, then back at the big, empty, luxurious lounge area she’d just left. “All of it?” she asked.

“All of it,” the curvy one said.

Gods above, Gilly knew that Jaime was careless with money, but how much had he spent on this fool ticket? She looked at the women and immediately decided she’d extract every stag of value she could out of the experience. She owed it to Jaime. “What can you do with me in four hours?” she asked.

The two women looked at each other and giggled. “In four hours we can make you the best possible you,” the curvy one said, and then winked. “Or a whole new you, if you want to be someone else.” She grabbed a booklet off the counter. “Here. This shows all the services offered in the first-class lounge.”

Gilly skimmed it. An hour long spa treatment? An oxygen bar? A luxury Jacuzzi? And then there was the twelve-page dining room menu. Gilly’s stomach growled. “Can I take a break for lunch?” she asked.

The willowy one ushered her to a salon chair. “This is first class. They’ll bring it to you here. If you don’t like what’s on the menu, you can order whatever you want. Chef Illyrio will make it for you.”

“Whatever I want?” Gilly asked. “Can he make poutine?”

***

Three and a half hours later, buoyed by a relaxing massage and a glass of champagne, Gilly was gliding through the airport to her flight. The stylists had done things with Gilly’s hair — “don’t worry, this is totally low-maintenance, you look like a wash and go girl,” the curvy one had said — and her makeup — “your natural look is great, we’re just using the makeup to heighten it,” the willowy one said — and even styled her outfit using a combination of her own clothes and some that were left behind by a previous passenger.

“She said she wanted to shed her old self like a second skin before going to the Quiet Isle,” the curvy one had said, handing Gilly a buttery leather trench coat.

“Yes, and she drank so much wine she could have floated there on her own,” the willowy one said, looking longingly at a pair of brand-new riding boots before handing them over to Gilly with a sigh. “Our feet aren’t small enough to fit into these, but I bet yours are.”

Somehow the women had combined Gilly’s old thrift-store clothes (“Distressed is in this season!” the redhead said cheerfully as she pulled Gilly’s favorite sweater out of her suitcase) with the expensive clothes that other woman had left behind (“Unlike her, you don’t have a muffin-top in these jeans,” the willowy one said approvingly) to make her look glamorous. She thought it would take some squeezing to fit the new-to-her clothes and the bags of free makeup, hair care and skin care samples the stylists had insisted she take into her new bag, but the curvy one had pulled on one of the many zippers and the bag had expanded to almost twice its former size. Now a staff member was wheeling her portly roller bag while Gilly just toted her messenger bag on her shoulder. She looked around, smiling, enjoying the feel of her hair swishing from left to right. She felt like she owned the airport. She was so busy looking at the things around her that she didn’t notice the plump man walking hurriedly in her direction until it was too late.

As she tumbled over, she heard her father’s voice saying, _See what happens when you get above yourself, girl?_ “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to help the man collect the items that had fallen out of his bag. She expected him to cuss her out. Instead, he looked at her with a slack jaw like she had something on her face.

He suddenly began to speak. “All my fault. Bit of a klutz, I am. Always have been. My father always said so. And here I am, running over girls in the airport.” He was gathering up some pens and a packet of Post-It notes.

She stayed on the floor with him, ignoring the rush of other travelers around them. “No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He reached for a stray pen and missed, almost banging into her forehead; her hair ended up in his mouth. He grabbed the pen and drew back, looking at her again. He had the kindest face she had seen since she moved to King’s Landing, with his warm eyes and genuine smile. He picked up her bag along with his things and stood.

She rose to stand beside him. He held out her bag and she took it, adjusting it on her shoulder. She brushed her bangs from her face and smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said.

He stared at her. She wondered if there was something wrong with her makeup. But no, he had that googly-eyed look that Jaime sometimes got when he looked at Brienne. She smiled tentatively — hopefully. “Do you live here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Sorry. No. No. I mean, I’ve just arrived. Arrived in King’s Landing. To find someone.”

Her face fell. Of course he was here to meet someone, a nice boy like that. It figured. Before she could speak, the Westeros Airlines employee was at her elbow. “Excuse me, Miss —”

“I know,” she nodded to the employee. She turned back to the man who knocked her over. “I have to get to my gate,” she said. On impulse she reached out and squeezed his arm. “I hope you find who you’re looking for.”

***

Sam watched her as she raced away, the girl with the beautiful brown eyes and the hair that smelled like the Maiden’s heaven. He could still feel her touch on his arm. He thought about running after her, introducing himself, asking for her name. Then he looked at the airline employee clearing a path for her and shook his head. Clearly she was someone important. Maybe she was a singer, or a TV star. Her accent was like the Northern ones he’d left behind but not quite so strong.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, and pulled out the slip of paper there. He read it over, _Gilly Craster, Kingsgate Arms, King’s Landing_. He couldn’t be distracted by some beautiful girl in the airport. He had to find a way to meet Gilly.

***

It was just after her lunch on Wednesday when Brienne struggled through the door of Jaime’s apartment carrying an overfull laundry basket. She kicked the door shut behind her and glanced out the windows. Walda was talking to herself and watching _Happiness with Hot Pie_ ; the other units were quiet. A chubby stranger dressed all in black – their new Raven, she guessed – was just exiting the courtyard. Maybe someone had gotten a delivery. She’d have to check later. She wondered if Jaime realized you could see into the other apartments from his.

She made her way to the laundry room and began sorting. Jaime’s washer and dryer were much larger than her sensible stackables. She should have brought the bedding here to wash, but she wasn’t yet used to the idea that Jaime wanted his apartment to be _their_ apartment.

She shoved a load into the machine. She looked down at the t-shirt and yoga pants she was wearing. _Just how clean were they?_ she wondered. She could probably find a clean pair of sweatpants and t-shirt in Jaime’s room. He’d said he liked it when she wore his clothes. She toed off her sneakers and shimmed out of the leggings, throwing them and her shirt in as well.

 _Relationships are hell on getting housework done_ , she thought. She hummed to herself as she grabbed the detergent. If someone had told her five months ago that she’d be dating her gorgeous new neighbor, she wouldn’t have believed them. But here she was, in the first truly serious relationship in her life. Maybe _— hopefully —_ the last one.

She’d just closed the lid of the washer when she felt warm hands slide around her waist and Jaime’s beard tickling the back of her neck. It took only an instant before she was over her embarrassment and relaxed back against him, wrapping her arms around his. “You’re back from work early.”

Jaime placed a kiss between her shoulder blades. “If I’d known you were walking around naked, I’d have been home hours ago.”

“I’m not naked,” she blushed. “I’m just out of clean clothes. Are you playing hooky?”

"I'm the boss. I can leave when I want to,” he argued.

She snorted. “Aren’t you the boss’s son?”

She felt him grin into her hair. “Yes,” he answered. “I’m the boss’s rich, handsome, spoiled son and I decided half-a-day was enough for my first day back and I missed you.”

 _He missed her._ She turned in his arms and kissed him. “I missed you, too.” She bit her lip and then pressed her hips into his. He was already hard against her thigh.

He chuckled. “Is that how it is, Wench?” He reached behind her, and with a quick snap unfastened her bra. He started to pull her towards the bedroom.

“My name is Brienne,” she huffed, leaning back against the vibrating washer.

He looked up at her and raised a brow. “So you don’t want to…?”

She blushed. “I was thinking — I mean, since we’re here…” She reached back, pressing the heels of her hands into the washer, lifting herself to sit on it just as she felt it go into fast spin mode. “If you can manage it with your knee —” She blushed even harder, shocked at her own boldness.

“Oh Wench,” Jaime said, “I definitely _can_.”

***

Brienne gave just a brief thought to the concept of _relationship fat_ as she sat on the couch and looked at the empty cartons of Qarthian food littering Jaime’s coffee table. She pushed the thought aside as he reached over and pulled her legs across his lap. She leaned back against the armrest as he absently rubbed her feet. “They have to stop soon, don’t they?” he asked over the sounds of enthusiastic love-making emanating from the apartment below.

Brienne shrugged. “Margaery says Loras travels a lot so they don’t get to see each often.” There was a shout from downstairs that made her think that at least one of them was finished, but then the low moaning started up again.

“The new guy is louder than his brother ever was,” Jaime said. “Do you think it’s a family trait? Is Stannis a screamer?”

She kicked him lightly. “Jaime.”

Another loud moan erupted from below and a steady thumping began.

“Speaking of family traits, Father wants us to have dinner on Saturday at the Black Cells.” He kneaded the arch of her foot.

“Is that a new restaurant?” It didn’t sound terribly pleasant, but then dinner would be short.

The thumping grew faster.

Jaime tugged at her big toe. “No, that’s what Tyrion and I call Father’s house here in the city. It’s officially called Lion’s Gate.”

That sounded even better. A family dinner, away from people, away from _waitresses_. She really needed to warn him, to explain. “Jaime, about my dad —” she began.

“That’s right. Father said your father was coming too. I thought it was just going to be your mother and sisters.”

Brienne sat up, pulling her legs away from him. “My mother?” she croaked. _No, not her mother._

The thumping reached a crescendo.

Jaime nodded. “She called on Stranger’s Eve. I’ve been meaning to mention it. She said it was a surprise that she and your sisters were coming to town, but Father said you and he had already talked about having our families meet.” He grinned at her. “She calls you ‘BeeBee’?”

Brienne’s stomach turned icy cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in... _Family Plot._
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with us though this holiday fic that is ending almost as summer begins. We have truly appreciated all your kudos and comments. 
> 
> A final thanks to [CommaSplice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice/works) who unwittingly made this fic and this collaboration happen. We hope you all enjoy her work as much as we do.


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